Quell Your Fears
by zookie33
Summary: The 25th Hunger Games is a big deal for Panem. It's different. This year is the first Quarter Quell, and the Districts get to vote in their own Tribute. Isaac Alldrenn, the male Tribute selected for District Seven, knows it's gonna be rough. But little does he know that the fight for his life starts the very moment he steps foot in the Capitol. Rated M for violence.
1. Dead Boy Rises pt 1

_Three months before the Quell_

I laid on my back, spread-eagle on the bed, my glasses askew, blood slowly staining my white button down shirt. My breathing was slow, very slow, and even; my heartbeat snail pace and quiet, whilst the blood slowly pooled in my face because it dangled off the side of the bed. My feet were over the opposite side, and they were starting to get pins and needles because they'd been hanging there for so long.

And then finally she entered. The new maid who had only been here a week and who was scheduled to clean the boys dormitories today. She slowly cleaned the others beds, and my brown eyes followed her progress, watching her bend over and make the beds or crouch down to pick up someone's laundry and add it to the basket at her hip. She was old-looking, maybe in her forties, which was a rare occurrence here in District Seven, but she hadn't made anything better of herself than a housemaid, even though she survived the war. My eyes almost narrowed at the thought.

The blood from my death wound had almost soaked my whole shirt now, just the collar and the back to spread to. My breathing was quiet and slow, and I knew as soon as she looked at me that I would be dead in her eyes. There was no help for someone whose blood had covered the whole front of their shirt.

Finally she straightened up from scrubbing a bedpan; she saw me and shrieked, literally _throwing_ her basket into the air and running, screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs, from the room. I could hear her from down the hall when she reached the director's office telling Mrs. Ferwere that a boy, here, in the community home, had died! And then I heard Mrs. Ferwere's heels clicking furiously against the linoleum floors as she trotted with the distressed maid down to the boy's dormitories.

And when Mrs. Ferwere saw me, sitting up on my bed, crying and shaking from laughing so hard, my unmarked-chest bare except for the empty bag of red dye taped to my stomach because my blood-stained shirt was on the floor, her face immediately turned purple from rage and I knew that I would get the worst discipline speech ever. And, as always, it started off with Mrs. Ferwere seeing the need to use my full name.

"Isaac Joshua Alldrenn!" she was very severe. I saw some of the other boys slip into the dormitory, some glaring in my direction, some indifferent; others giving me subtle thumbs ups. I noticed my fingers still had dye on them. Without thinking I licked the dye off, sucking gently on my fingers while pretending to listen to Mrs. Ferwere rave, until I had cleaned them. Since I was already on my bed, I leant back into the pillow, adjusted my glasses to a comfortable position, put my arms behind my head and lay there listening to Mrs. Ferwere like I had done it a thousand times. Which is probably because I had.

After I was set to cleaning duty for six months and was slapped across the face three times, all people in the community home were called to the recreation room to see the mandatory viewing that our mayor had informed all in District Seven to watch. President Statia, the Capitol's monarch, appeared, smiling thinly to the crowd. He had close-cropped grey hair and very deep blue eyes, but he had a sort of fatherly look around him because he was very portly and walked with a swagger that created the image of him rolling. But his eyes were cold and his lips were thin.

He cleared his throat and started a rumbling speech dictating the Dark Days that only finished twenty-five years ago, concluding in The Hunger Games- a gift to the rebelling Districts from our _beloved_ Capitol.

But apparently, this year's games were going to be special, perhaps themed or maybe have a special requirement of the Districts. Not the normal battle to the death, no, this was our first ever Quarter Quell to celebrate the quarter of one hundred Games the Capitol will get to enjoy. But when he pulled out a shiny wooden box with hundreds of envelopes in it, it seemed they plan for many, _many_ more Quarter Quells than four.

President Statia slit open the very first envelope with a fine pointed dagger and unfolded the paper within it. He read the words written on the heavy waxy paper out to the microphone "Now to honour our first ever Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District will be made to hold an election and vote on the Tributes who will represent the District." The crowd of Capitol people on television were screaming in assent, looking excited and hopeful, and why wouldn't they? It was a new event for them, something exciting, a twist on the thing they love.

I blinked at the screen, and then I looked at the people around me, feeling the tenderness in my swollen cheek from where Mrs Ferwere had slapped me. All the grungy boys with grubby faces and hands, in second-hand clothes and shoes two sizes too big. All the girls with their missing teeth, soiled dresses and dirty knees with their hair greasy and stringy. Then I look at the adults. I see the more motherly carers gathering the younger children into them, assuring the ones who were crying that they'd never vote for them. But I see them glance at me when they think about voting, I get a fleeting glance of Mrs. Ferwere's satisfied raised eyebrow and I catch the eye of the new maid who had finally come out of hysterics, I realise that there may be a very real chance of them voting for someone in this room. And my guess would be the odds are not in my favour.

_One and a half months before the Quell_

It was Saturday today, and that meant no school but chores for me. And today was the day that District Seven would be voting on their Tribute for the twenty-fifth Hunger Games. I went through a checklist in my head of the qualities I possessed for the possibility of being a Tribute this year.

Adults hated me, and only adults were voting.

I have no parents, and the corpses that _were_ my parents were unrespected alcoholics who- yep, you guessed it- everyone hated.

I'm a bad influence on the other kids.

I steal.

I scare people.

I kick puppies (I'm just kidding here, but you may as well put that on the list since everyone hates me anyway).

So I'm pretty much in the Games aren't I?

But there were loads of worse kids in my District. I mean, there were those kids who beat up others, ones who bet on who was getting reaped, ones who were so poor and hungry they sold their bodies to older citizens, and those who got pleasure of ratting out the wrongdoers to Peacekeepers. So why wouldn't the adults vote for them?

I was in the main market streets of District Seven, dodging around people carrying their heavy lumber and sneakily swiping food like buns and apples off the stalls lining the streets. Of course the shopkeepers saw me do it, but they couldn't get to me in time to beat me for being a kleptomaniac because I melted into the crowd and artfully timed my pilfering to when they had at least a few customers.

I suppose I shouldn't be stealing now that I was trying to win people's favour but it was second nature to me. I had been 'shop-lifting'- as Peacekeepers called it, because the stalls are _such_ big _shops_- since I could roam the streets alone. It wasn't something I needed to do; I just enjoyed the thrill of being unstoppable. Sure, I liked the food, it tasted great, but for the amount of times I had been caught and punished, you'd think it wasn't worth it. The Peacekeepers or the stall-owners themselves either beat me, which is what happened most of the time, or tell the community home and let them deal with me; the delinquent. I had been beaten often, so now I had three broken teeth, a slightly twisted nose and a finger which wasn't set right when it was broken so now it's permanently twisted.

I wandered back to the community hall and saw that now, at noon, adults were filing past me to go to the Justice building and vote on their Tributes. I walked by them, saying hi to some and smiling as sweetly as a tall, ropey, seventeen-year-old can, hoping to win some last-minute favours. Some smiled or waved back, others scowled, and more still were burying their faces in their hands as they thought about what they had to do.

_It won't be me_, I thought, and I believed it because there were worse kids and I lived in good, strong District Seven, and they wouldn't vote for me because they hated me. No, they would vote to get rid of some person they thought doesn't deserve to live, a kid who they would want to put out of their misery, or that was so bad they couldn't remain here living with the rest of us. Yes, that would be the category that the kids they voted for would belong to.

_Quell_

Hair brushed and presentable. Check.

Teeth cleaned and white-ish. Sorta.

Clean clothes and semi-shiny shoes on. Yup

Confidence that I wouldn't be chosen. Nada.

I walked with the other community kids to the main square, straightening a little girl's jacket, and telling another seventeen-year-old in the faded, grey orphan dress to keep her head held high. She nodded bravely at me, and we took the lead of the crowd of orphans, lining them all up and telling them to be brave.

See, I'm not that bad. To children at least. Adults I don't care for, and the law I just don't respect. But kids? Yeah, I love them.

I stood with the other boys my age, nodding to them and noticing the ones who looked like they were accepting the fact that they could never be chosen, and searching the lost eyes of the others whose faces were closed and pale. In other words, the ones who had acknowledged that they could quite possibly be the ones chosen to die.

Instead of the usual two glass balls at the stage, there were two envelopes, weighted down with silver paperweights stamped with District Seven's emblem. Four chairs stood at the back of the stage, all occupied. In two sat previous victors, the mentors for this year. One was a sickly morphling addict, the other a brown-skinned Capitol pawn with bleached-green hair and studded ears. Seated next to them was our escort for this year, Cameria, who was chatting animatedly with our mayor.

Then the clock's bells rang and Mayor Saige stood and walked to the microphone. He was a strict man with cold grey eyes, olive skin and black hair. He told us what he told everyone every year, adding on the Quarter Quell's requirements at the end, and then introduce Cameria who tottered forward on her massive high heels to the microphone, smiling with her bleached Capitol smile and waving.

She was dressed head-to-toe in butter yellow, and had on a shining wig of metallic gold curls that was shaped into a huge beehive. He hands were adorned with rings, which, even plain, were a great prize here in Seven, but hers were adorned with gems and accents. Ropes of precious stones lined her throat and wrists and ankles, and she had wings tattooed upon her breastbone, probably symbolising her ultimate ditzy freedom. I was aching to run up and rob her of all her possessions.

"Hi!" she called into the microphone, waving ecstatically to us. "I am _so_ excited to be here!" Everyone in Seven knew she was actually being sincere since she got moved up here from District Twelve three years ago.

"Well, let's not delay any longer and see the lucky two Tributes who your District has volunteered for the Hunger Games this year!" She squealed, and tottered over to the envelopes. "Ladies first!" she slit the envelope and pulled out a white card. She came back to the microphone and spoke in a clear voice, "Gabriella Vulthasson."

I had never heard of this girl before, and as she came up to the stage, glaring at the crowd, disbelieving that they voted for her, I saw why. She was bone thin, with a baggy dress on that was too short. I didn't recognise her face but I presumed she was one of the girls who sold themselves for food. Her hair was long and black, and her brown eyes were filling with tears.

"Anything to say, Gabbie?" Cameria held the microphone for Gabriella and I saw her flinch at the nickname. She shook he head, but her anguished sob could be heard through the speakers.

"Okay then. Boy's turn!" Cameria placed the microphone down and went to collect the other envelope. She came back and I felt pretty safe since they voted on someone who had done crime. All I did was stole occasionally, and that wasn't _that _bad. Was it?

Cameria cleared her throat and spoke clearly "Isaac Alldrenn," into the microphone. I cussed so loudly that the boys near me jumped, but I jogged up to the podium soon enough. "Anything you want to say, dear?" Cameria held the microphone to me. I saw people smirking at my expression, but I turned the joke onto them, the horrible people who voted for me.

"I am _so_ excited!" I gushed. I saw people's faces fall and stare disbelieving at me as I clutched my hands to my chest and gave the ultimate expression of a person dying of excitement. "Thank you all for giving me the chance to participate in this year's Quell. I am so happy, gosh, thank you all!" And I spread my arms as if to embrace the whole District. Cameria was near ecstatic tears next to me, but Gabriella just stared at me, incredulous.

Cameria took control of the microphone again, and spoke in a tearful voice, "Wasn't that _beautiful_? Let's give a big hand for these two wonderful young people, District Seven!" And she broke into a smattering of Capitol applause while the citizens followed her lead. "Now shake hands," She gestured to me and Gabriella. I smirked at her.

"Nice to meet you, Gabbie," I grinned. She gave me a scathing look and she shook my hand with only her thumb and forefinger. I grabbed her whole hand, trying to forget the places it might have been, and pulled her in for a hug. She struggled; all but screaming profanities, and then I released her with a quick shove, sending her tottering a few steps away. Cameria was really crying at our 'unity' now, and I grinned at her. She pulled me close under her arm and said into the microphone,

"Wasn't that _lovely?_" she was trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She squeezed my hand in hers and I discreetly slid one of her many rings off. "Say goodbye to your Tributes, people!" And they all remained stony faced as we walked offstage. I waved and blew kisses to them, subtly dropping the ring into my pocket and they all but snarled. The last thing I did was wink at the cameras.

As soon as I entered the waiting room in the Justice building my brave, overjoyed façade faded leaving me brittle and scared. I didn't imagine what lay ahead of me, nor did I try to wish I hadn't been chosen. I just stared blankly at the wall, running my fingers over and over again on the velvet couch I was sitting on.

I didn't expect any visitors, so when there was a knock on the door and a girls' voice said "Can I come in?" I all but fell off the couch.

"Sure," I righted myself in time to see a girl slide through the opening. The one I told to keep her head up at the start of the Reaping. I didn't know what to say, and she just stood there awkwardly, so I said, "Sup?" to get the ball rolling.

"Do you have a District token?" She blurted out. I raised my eyebrows, fingering the ring in my pocket, but I hadn't thought about it. I guess the thought never concerned me before.

"Nope," I popped the 'p' and smiled wearily. Then I saw her quickly detach a necklace she was wearing and pass it to me without a word. I looked at the grotty, rusty silver chain and the small tarnished disc hanging off the end. On the disc was just the initials _A. L._ in cursive writing. It held nothing else, not even a picture. I raised an eyebrow, thinking of giving it back, but shrugged. I guess I could wear it.

"Thanks," I said, acting like it was no big deal she probably gave me her most expensive possession. "Be sure to come and retrieve it when I return." _In a box or not_. The words hung in the air but I let them slide coolly away by fixing her with a penetrative stare.

She had brown eyes, pale, freckly skin and long brown hair that stuck up in irregular angles. It looked like she tried to tame it with combs, but the effects were more like she stuck random combs in her hair because she could.

"Yeah, yeah sure." She looked at the floor, knotting and unknotting her fingers together.

"Um, I suppose you can have this, since you gave me something." I tossed her Cameria's ring. She took one look at it and her eyes widened and she shoved it in her pocket. I grinned sneakily at her and she almost glared back, the surprise arching her eyebrows greatly. The awkward silence after that was all that remained of our pleasantries.

I couldn't sit still so I got up and walked around. My fingers ached to do something so I started pulling the combs out of her hair. She started to protest, but I gave her a pointed look, cocking one of my eyebrows, and she stopped, plainly knowing her hair would look better without the combs.

I gave the combs in a neat pile back to her just when a Peacekeeper came to collect the girl. I realised I didn't know her name. "Wait! What's your name?" I asked quickly, because she was already getting escorted out. She widened her eyes, probably remembering I had only known her as a community house kid before today and said,

"It's A-" she starts but her guard forced her from the room, shoving her out the door so hard I hear a thud and her squeal as she falls over onto the fine carpet outside. I sighed, but it didn't really matter because I didn't need to know her name, all I needed from her was to know that someone here, at least, is rooting for me.

I struggled to put on the old necklace, and when I finally did I realised it's so long the disc finished where my sternum ends, and it felt weird and cold against my skin. No one else came in to see me, so in the end when Cameria comes to collect me I was lying with my back on the couch, feet on the wall, tugging on my curly black hair with the necklace between my nose and upper-lip. But I grinned like she lit up my world when she walked in, so she just smiled ostentatiously back and ushered me out the door.


	2. A Plant Called Afternoon

"Chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga," I muttered under my breath, staring out the window of the train and watching as the trees of District Seven passed me with unnatural speed. We had just boarded the train after me smiling and waving at the cameras and Gabriella scowling and ducking her head at the station. I was seated at a window seat, running my fingers around the rim of a clear glass filled with extraordinarily orange juice with one hand, the other neatly tucked under my chin. My glasses were slightly askew, the effect being slightly uncomfortable on my nose, but liveable.

"Now Ike and Gabbie," Cameria said when she entered the compartment Gabriella and I were in. It took me a moment to realise the 'Ike' she was referring to was me. I looked at her, sipping my juice but Gabriella just continued to stare at her knees. "It's time to meet your mentors! Isn't that exciting?" Cameria smiled at us, showing her artificially whitened teeth. She still hadn't noticed her missing ring. Our mentors walked in, one smiling at us from under his acid-green hair, the other staring into space as a Capitol attendant helped her into a seat at the vast table.

"Come and join us, guys," The green-haired man said. I walked tentatively to the table and took a seat, Cameria immediately sitting next to me, and Gabriella walked over sullenly and sat cross-legged in the seat opposite the morphling-addict. "I'm Rowan," the man continued. He had rich brown skin, blue eyes that could only have some from contacts, studded ears and on his teeth were what looked like diamonds, a small gem on every tooth. And his green hair, of course. He must love going to the Capitol.

"This is Lexandra," The Capitol assistant said, gesturing to the small woman. She had limp, greasy blond hair and eyes that seemed to swallow her face. She didn't even react to her name, just sat there stirring air with her fingers. Inwardly I shuddered, thanking the stars that I didn't have Lexandra as a mentor.

"Now before we start anything serious," Cameria chirped from beside me "Let's have afternoon tea!" I saw Gabriella look at her with a confused stare, and felt my own brow crease. Afternoon tea? Was that a special brand of drink that you only had in the afternoon, or a tea made of a plant called 'afternoon'?

"What's afternoon tea?" I asked Cameria. She turned to me shocked, but then let out a laugh and put her arm around me, squeezing me to her artificial bosom.

"Oh, Isaac, you're so funny!" She roared with laughter. I looked with alarm to Gabriella who shrugged and then reminded herself not to interact with me and looked away quickly. So I pretended to laugh too. Rowan was chuckling and even Lexandra seemed to catch up to our moment for a second, letting out a squeak of a laugh.

It turns out afternoon tea was food, almost like lunch, in the afternoon. Like a snack. Tea was served, though, as well as jugs of juice so cold condensation was running down the sides of the jugs and drinks that were fizzing with bubbles. There were little cakes, iced biscuits, fresh loaves of bread, fresh fruit, soups, sandwiches, pastas, meats and dipping sauces. I'm pretty sure it was more than Gabriella ever had to eat in her life.

She loaded her plate ferociously until it was full, and then didn't even glance at her knife and fork. She ate by the handful, cramming it into her mouth at the same speed as the train was travelling, and swallowing it just as quick. I tried not to watch the starved girl eat, thinking of how she would probably just throw it up tonight when the richness of this splendour caught up to her. I had always been hungry, but since I stole and had regular meals, I guess I was never as hungry as Gabriella. She must have lived on the streets, where no one had spare food, even a scrap, to give the gutter-people.

I still ate until I was about to burst, though, sometimes with, sometimes without my cutlery, and even then Gabriella was still eating. Cameria had left a while ago, holding a handkerchief to her mouth, looking faintly green. Lexandra was painting swirls in the food that had spilled over from Gabriella's plate or food that had fallen from the starving girl's mouth. Rowan was still here too, watching me accusingly, either studying me for the Games or squinting in the blinding rays of my awesomeness. Lexandra's assistant had left shortly after Cameria, but I could see his yellow hair through the glass door into the next compartment where he was sitting, assumedly waiting close by in case Lexandra needed him. Rowan ate a small amount, but Lexandra didn't eat anything. By all the pockmarks near the crease in her arm and the catheter dangling off a piece of tape, I guessed she would never eat with us.

Finally Gabriella stopped eating and wiped her face on her dress, obviously forgetting that we had napkins here on the train. Lexandra's assistant came back in and gestured for a Capitol attendant to start cleaning. I could see they were struggling to keep their faces blank. I smiled at the thought of them getting fired.

"So, Isaac," Rowan said. I turned to him and raised my eyebrows. "Can I call you Ike?" I remained impassive, though I guess he took it as a yes. "Okay, then, Ike, what can you do? Anything special?" I thought for a moment.

"My fashion sense is impeccable." I gestured to the stiff, dull grey reaping clothes us orphans had to wear to the Reaping every year, which were probably the ugliest things in the world, save Gabriella's dress.

Rowan burst out laughing, Lexandra and her assistant following suit, but Gabriella stood up, looking furious. "You think this is a game, don't you?" she snarled at me.

"It's called the Hunger _Games_ for a reason," I stated back. I saw her colour rise is her doughy cheeks.

"You know what? I bet you're just going to die on the _first day_, probably at the bloodbath, because you're too busy mucking around to listen to your mentor!" She shrieked at me. I raised a hand to one side of my mouth, pretending to whisper to her.

"No offence, but I don't think your mentor will be telling you much, so fair game." I looked pointedly in Lexandra's direction, and while her assistant let out an outraged 'hey!', Lexandra didn't as much as blink in my direction.

"Oh my _gosh_, I'm just going to kill you my_self_!" Gabriella stormed, and just when I thought maybe she _would_ actually leap over the table at me, the colour in her cheeks went from red to green, and I had just enough time to dive under the table with Rowan to avoid getting splattered as Gabriella vomited right on the table.

"Fast reflexes, _check_." Rowan said to me under the table, giving me another diamond-studded smile. I turned my face away, though, and didn't smile back. I didn't want to think about the Games yet. I was too terrified.

Later Cameria took me to the lounge cart of the train, where she said we would watch the replay of the Reaping. We had to walk through the dining cart to get there, and all I could smell was disinfectant. When we reached it, I took central perch on the couch, pretending to be excited, whilst really just zoning out. Gabriella came in too, in tow of Rowan, but Lexandra and her assistant were absent. Cameria turned on the TV, which took up about half the wall space, and we saw the two announcers for this year's Games.

They were nothing special, in Capitol terms. One was a lady who had been the interviewer for the last five years, and the other the official announcer since the Games started. The lady was a should-be-retired bimbo who wore skimpy leotards and had actual rabbit-ears and a cotton-bud tail on her body. I was repulsed. The man had an elaborate hairstyle, creative eyebrows and something funky going on with his clothing, but other than that, nothing else was really going for them. They weren't very good, and the lady was all about screen-time, whilst the man, who was overweight and I bet still lived with his mother, just sat there, read off a piece of paper, and stared at the lady's exposed legs.

Their names were Bunny Crosswire and Emlyn Fuut. Sadly, the man's name was the one that started with B.

They started at District One, showing us the Tributes for the first ever Quarter Quell. I pretended to watch, zoning out after seeing the first girl chosen. She was a monster, that's all I could depict before I shut my eyes tight. The majority of the rest of the time I zoned out but sometimes catching a Tribute, or some detail about them. The girl from Three who needed to be thrown on stage because she had tried to run when they called her name. The boy from Five, called Jerome Berhich who, like Lexandra, needed to be guided up to the stage because he had some sort of mental disorder.

I laughed when Gabriella got chosen, just to spite her, but I was stabbed by twinge of guilt when I saw the tears that had filled her eyes when she was Reaped reflected in the eyes of my competitor now, as she watched herself chosen for death again. Then there I was, bounding up the steps after they beeped out my swearing, grinning and smiling at the crowd, waving and beaming at the camera. Cameria squeezed me around the shoulders then, taking a moment to get her eyes off the camera to smile warmly at me. I wanted to puke, but remembering Gabriella already doing that for me today, I decided to let the Capitol save their precious carpet in the lounge cart.

On to more Tributes. The boy from Eight, named Marhkuhs who must have been eighteen, who looked like he lived on the streets and had something wrong with his limbs. The twins from Eleven, who everyone booed at when they stood on stage. And, the last person I noticed was the boy from Twelve who, like me, looked betrayed at first but then thanked his District and blew kisses to the crowd. Then they all, like me, were locked in the Justice Building until they would arrive at the Capitol. And I would see them all tomorrow night.

The train had showers. With buttons. Tho only shower I had ever seen was when the Capitol did a documentary of one of the previous Victor's bedroom at the Capitol, and for some reason filmed the shower. It was a weird doco, but the school had wanted us educated in case we ever went to the Capitol. I guess I should be thankful.

I walked into the glass-walled shower, looking at the buttons. There were no inscriptions or anything to tell what the buttons did, so, experimentally, I pressed one. It lit up and a steam filled the shower box so quickly I thought my glasses had gone cloudy until I removed them. I stripped off then, thinking there was no time like the present for a shower, and enjoyed a steam bath. I pressed the steam button again and the showerhead seemed to suck up the steam, leaving me with lovely exfoliated skin, which would be so helpful in the Hunger Games. But it felt nice. I pressed another button and this time the showerhead doused me in some thick golden gel that made me look like I was made of jelly. Now I definitely had to find the water button.

An hour-long shower later, which was excellent therapy to block out unwanted thoughts- like the fact the one of the twenty three other kids I just saw on the screen may kill me- I walked in my room smelling like flowers and mangos and rummaged through my drawers. There were entire drawers dedicated to undergarments and socks, another for shirts. I eventually found a white tee, black leather jacket (I felt fancy), some pants made out of a material that I'd never felt before and, because the jacket made me feel posh, I put on a trilby hat that made my curly black hair explode around the rim of it. I had to keep my frameless glasses on, though; my eyes strained too much when I tried to take them off, and the last thing I needed was to go blind before the arena. I put on the necklace, and I stayed barefoot because I liked the feel of the carpet on my feet and posed in front of the mirror for a while. Then, when Cameria came and called me for dinner, complementing me on my style, I accepted the complements graciously. And when I saw Gabriella with her clean hair and jumper/jeans getup, I smirked as she gaped at my hat. The only thing I said was, "Trust in my fashion sense now, disbeliever?", and doffed my hat to her, bowing. She flung her hair over her shoulder furiously, blushing at her bowl.

"You're still an idiot," she growled. I laughed and took a seat next to Cameria, who was patting the seat next to her like an excited dog wagged its tail.

"Hey Gab," I said, and Gabriella looked up, about to snap at me. I cut her off. "This," I held up the pronged bit of cutlery "Is a fork. You stab and eat with it." I mimed eating with the fork. I repeated twice more, both for spoon and knife, and by then Gabriella had turned a shade of red I had never seen.

"You little-" she snarled, reaching over the table at me, but Cameria cut her off.

"Now, _dear_," she said in a clipped voice "He was only trying to help you, sugar," Cameria's eyes were flashing and I smiled sweetly at Gabriella from behind Cameria's protective arm. "And, Panem forgive me, you _need_ to learn even the littlest bit of etiquette if you are to dine at the Capitol." Gabriella glared, but Rowan put his arm up.

"Now, now, Cammie," he said, easy-going as ever, "She's fine, she just needs some... encouragement, that's all." He smiled at Gabriella, and she maybe didn't look _quite _as furious. Then dinner was served, and I saw her pick up the fork, narrowing her eyes at it. I felt an unwelcome stab of pity at this girl in front of me who had never lived in a house, let alone handled a fork. Rowan scooted closer to her and showed her how to hold it and what to do with it.

"Excited?" Cameria asked me. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, yeah." I quipped so sarcastically I could feel Gabriella's hair stand up on her neck. But, somehow, I don't think Cameria got the meaning across. She just told me that of course I was in a baby voice and cooed at me. I had no idea why and I looked at her incredulously, but then Lexandra's assistant stopped me in my tracks with a question that would make or break me.

"You scared?" he asked. I would guess that normally Capitol people don't ask Tributes if they were scared. Indeed, my estimate would be they wouldn't care about our feelings at all, but this casual question had me stopped in my tracks. The attendant wasn't even looking at me, as always he was gazing forlornly at the spaced-out Lexandra. But, for some reason, I _had_ to answer his question.

Yes, I was terrified. If I hadn't had years of being an orphan and pranking and joking as my shield, my way of life, I would have been quivering in my boots from the second they called out "Isaac Alldrenn", but as it was I was only keeping the casual allure because I had to, for myself, to make _myself_ believe that I was confident. So now, when I knew I couldn't give that answer, I said one of the biggest lies I had ever spoken.

"No, I am not afraid." I answered blandly, quietly. But I repeated louder "I'm not scared." I almost yelled it now. They didn't even look at me, and the Capitol attendant didn't seem to register my response, nodding either to me or to Lexandra.

I ate furiously then, stabbing the chicken in orange sauce like it was one of my opponents. The thought made me sick, so I moved to noodles, but then I couldn't eat anymore because everything I ate made me feel like I was eating a human body part. Apricots had the texture of ears. Walnuts looked like mini-brains. Carrots were fingers, and don't even get me started on the turkey liver or the noodles.

I excused myself, walked calmly to my room, stripped into my undergarments and crawled into my bed, feeling sick. They had forced me to think about the future before I had too, and now I was scared. I was curled up into a tight ball, shaking and feeling nauseated. I bit into my pillow and tried to forget about it but I couldn't. I had never thought of death, but now, because it was imminent, I was compelled to start imagining what it would be like. How would I die? Decapitation would be quick, I supposed, though not a lot of them happened in the Hunger Games. It always seemed to be stabbings or broken necks, which would hurt a lot.

Many hours later I was still awake. Very, very awake. I sat up, feeling the necklace I hadn't taken off slide around my neck, and found adrenaline pulsing through my veins, probably from all the death scenes I had imagined for myself and my body felt the need to run and keep running. I paced my room, and then decided to order a drink. That would be safe, wouldn't it? I walked outside my room, retreating quickly when I realised all I was in was underwear and a tarnished necklace, then reappearing in the hall dressed in a robe made of soft, downy material. I found a Capitol servant quickly enough, and she gave me a startled look, like, _why is this kid up at 3am_? even though she looked maybe nineteen herself, but it quickly diluted into the blank, _how may I help you_? look they always had.

"What's your most calming drink?" I asked.

"Probably warm milk, sir." She said in monotone.

"Eugh, boring. Anything with flavour?" I noted the annoyance that flashed over her face.

"Hot chocolate, if you'd like that better, _sir_." She said vindictively, like I had offended her as I insulted the milk. I smirked, said yes, and wandered into the lounge compartment to wait. I sat on the couch like I had in the Justice Building- necklace between my nose and upper-lip, feet dangling over the back of the lush couch, fingers running through my hair, combing out the knots and feeling the curls spring back to my head as I uncoiled them. I watched the shadows of trees rush past the window, knowing they weren't my trees but unfamiliar ones. I hoped there were trees in the Games.

I flinched at the thought just as the attendant walked in with my hot chocolate. She had applied generous amounts of some sort of stiff cream to the top, along with what looked like chocolate shavings and a wafer. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation and smiled at the lady. Her stiff manor broke and she smiled back warmly, I supposed she was excited to be talking to a potential victor. Ha, a potential victor, yeah, sure. I meant a Tribute, somebody that will be famous for a week before he dies.

She sat down next to me, and I mean _right _next to me, as I started drinking. I lifted the wafer out and chewed, loving the taste. "Mmm," I hummed to her, and she beamed at me. I used the rest of the wafer to get the cream off and then greedily sucked the mug dry. "Can I have another?" I asked her eagerly, licking my lips and thinking of the taste.

"Sure, sweetheart," she said, and I almost gagged. She left me to refill my mug, touching my shoulder as she got up, and I looked around, trying to diffuse the moment where someone from the Capitol was flirting with me. And suddenly, I saw Gabriella standing in the dark corner of the room, in a white nightgown, looking at me incredulously. I suddenly realised what it looked like I was doing, sitting with a Capitol girl, having her flirt with me. I grinned like a Cheshire cat at her.

"Jealous?" I asked, and she blushed beetroot red.

"N-no! How gross!" I guess a girl who sold herself for food wasn't good at confrontation. I let the taunting look leave my face and let it slide of back into neutral. I rested the back of my head against the couch, and was surprised to see Gabriella take the seat next to me. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked tentatively.

"No way could I sleep," I said back, looking at her from under my glasses. She almost smiled in agreement. I guess she was over the whole 'ignore Isaac ' thing she had going on. It didn't last long.

Maybe she just craved human compassion in the long hours before our deaths.

"Well, you might want to sleep, keep your strength up. Actually, scratch that, don't sleep, be weak, and die." Okay, maybe she still hated me. I glared, about to respond, when my hot chocolate came. I snatched it off the attendant, stood, smeared cream on Gabriella's face, and went to my room.

I drank my hot chocolate slowly, trying to calm down and I did. I crawled into bed again, and when my door creaked open, I sat up and threw my mug at the shadowy figure standing there. They shut the door just in time, the mug shattering against the mirror on the back of the door, which, in turn, made the mirror break into millions of reflective pieces that landed on the carpet. I didn't know who wanted to talk to me, but I didn't care. Right now all I wanted to do was sleep.


	3. Meeting My Dead Friends

Cameria came in the next morning to wake me up, and I felt like I hadn't slept at all. The glass had inexplicably been removed from the carpet in front of the door, but word of my outburst must have made rounds on the train because she was extra quiet and wouldn't meet my eye. But I still smiled and acted like I was happy to be here, and I'm pretty sure she forgot about it soon enough. She said she had woken me because there was only an hour until we got to the Capitol, and I needed to be fed and dressed before then. She left me after to, in her words, 'Fashionably astonish them all again', and I took a short shower, trying my best to pick buttons that wouldn't make me lose two layers of skin or dye my body blue.

I emerged to the dining cart in a simple white shirt, brown pants, a brown jacket, and my token, of course. I assumed they'd make me wear shoes as I left the train, so I took the most expensive pair I could from the cupboard, knee-high brown leather, and stuck them under my pants. I ate briskly, some sort of grainy-stew type of thing, and then daydreamed at the table while Rowan and Gabriella talked. They seemed to be getting chummy.

And then we were in a tunnel, and I was out of my seat and at the window, wanting to get my first actual glimpse of the Capitol as close as I could. And then there it was, just the train station, but I was surrounded by people dressed so crazily I can't even begin to describe it. And I won't.

We were off the train and into a car in less than ten seconds, but that was enough for me to wave and smile at the crowd and grab onto hands that were reaching over the railings at me, to wink at girls and women in the crowd and listen to the screams and cries of all those who were begging for my death.

When I got into the car I was shaking so hard, my hands trembling so much I dropped the drink they gave to me, and it spilled all over the thick carpeting on the floor of the vehicle. I didn't want it anyway. Gabriella was, once again, looking at me in disgust, but I just stared out the blackened window as we drove along the streets that were filled to the max with people behind roped areas, just trying to get a glimpse of this year's entertainment.

My prep team, it seemed, were less than excited to see me. They were freakish: like jewel-encrusted snakes slithering and nipping at my clothes and hair. When I had met them they had taken one look at my unruly hair, chipped teeth, pale skin and my nose and shrieked, running around like headless chickens until the oldest had calmed them down and set them to work on me.

They were triplets, shamelessly named Shinette, Lizette and Barette, were identical except for hair, eye-colour and gem placement. I think they were a little addicted to their miniature crystals because there were so many on their bodies. Shinette, the youngest, had cropped metallic-blue hair with a long side fringe covering her boring blue eyes, and her gems were embedded in her skin covering her arms, shoulder to wrist. Barette, the middle child, had sea-green hair with no fringe but the end reached his hips, and had yellow eyes, his gems outlining them which made the shine in his eyes stand out. Lizette was the oldest and had bleached-white hair that stuck upon his head like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket, and had dopey brown eyes, with gems studded along his thighs and legs down to his ankles, which were very visible because of his very short shorts. Actually, the thought I got was more; 'I didn't know underwear came in leather.'

So they made me lie on a metal table, stripped me down, took my necklace and then they 'fixed' me, as the told me multiple times during the process. They re-broke and healed my nose straight in ten seconds, did the same to my finger, capped my broken teeth then proceeded to whiten them, put two drops of some clear liquid into each of my eyes and threw away my glasses, evenly tanned my skin so I didn't look as white as the walls, filed my nails, waxed the hair from under my arms, moisturised my skin and generally made me more 'appealing', as they kept telling me, over and over.

"So," Barette walked around me, inspecting my hair, pulling on the curls and letting them spring back into place. It felt wrong to have other hands do that besides my own. I jerked away from his touch, as I had already down multiple times but now, instead of taking offence, he just frowned viciously at me. "What do we do with... this?" he waved a disgusted hand over my curls and I latched on to them protectively.

"I suppose we could... shave it?" Shinette looked doubtfully at my dark tresses, and picked up a shearer in anticipation. I saw Lizette nod thoughtfully and Shinette approached me, the shearer's whirring in her hands.

"No _way_!" I snarled, running around to the opposite side of the table from Shinette. She clicked her tongue in frustration. I felt very naked, but right now it wasn't my top priority. I liked my hair: it was my stress reliever. I wanted to keep it, and there was no way they were going to shave me bald. I picked up a metal tray, quickly spilling all the metal, wooden and plastic instruments from it, and held it in front of me like a shield. "You may cut it short_er_, but no shaving. Nothing above the jaw line." I sneered at them all, daring them to approach me. But they just sighed, and Shinette slammed the shearers down on another metal tray.

"_Fine_!" She shrieked, throwing up her hands. None of them said any more, but I let them cut my hair to a level I agreed to, and then they proceeded to make me up for the Tribute Parade. The last thing they did before they made me up so I could meet my stylist was slather some minty-smelling cream onto my face, which I had to leave on for an hour.

"What's it do?" I examined it in the mirror. Lizette gave a huge condescending sigh, but Barette answered me.

"It keeps the hair on your face from growing. So you don't look like a hobo in the arena." He nodded earnestly at me, and at least I knew one of them still liked me. I smiled at him, having absolutely no clue what a 'hobo' was, and actually saw something besides annoyance in his earnest yellow eyes.

They had painted what looked like grass on my feet up to half-way down my shins, and they coloured the last centimetre of my feet in an earth-brown colour. They had covered the space between the grass and about halfway up my chest in a nutty-brown colour, and then gone for a leaf green up from there, including my face. They had given me green contacts that stung my eyes and made me blink a lot and had put a rinse through my hair that had turned my black hair into a washed-out dark-green. I prayed I wasn't going to be a tree like the previous Tributes had been. I had to stand for five minutes while I dried, not allowed to touch anything, and reeking of fresh paint.

And then at last, I got to meet my stylist. She walked in, shining. Like literally. Her hair was an inky black waterfall that fell to her knees, dotted with real lights so it looked like the night sky, and her skin was the colour of molten moonlight. Her eyes were grey, and she was wearing a tight silver jumpsuit that went from neck to wrist to ankle. Her lips were the dark blue of a summer night's sky and her nails were mini solar systems curved into half-moons. I sucked in a breath as she walked in and grimaced. I had been hoping against hope that, this year, we wouldn't have Celestial Shimmer- yes, that's _actually_ her name, whether she changed it to suit her look or not, I don't know- because she makes us into trees. But maybe this year she wouldn't. Maybe- I looked down at my painted body and swore out loud. Damn it, we were going to be trees.

In half an hour, I was dressed as a tree. I had some sort of rough, clingy material that looked exactly like tree bark that was spaced unevenly from mid-calf to the bottom of my ribs. My skin was bare everywhere else, the tree bark spacing in places to show my flat stomach or lower back. Above the bark I had a paper-thin unbreakable wire wrapped around my torso and arms, the real leaves attached to it tickling my skin. They floated in a nonexistent wind, irritating my skin but not wiping off the green paint. I also had some fluttering leaves entwined in my hair, but they didn't annoy half as much as the ones on my body.

I glowered at the mirror, and then at Celestial Shimmer as she stared, repulsed, at my hair. Why does everyone hate it? She opened her mouth and turned to Lizette, but I snapped, "I didn't let them shave it," at her. She stared at me, disgusted, and rolled her grey eyes. I had been making snarky remarks the whole time she was dressing me, but she had not said a word to me, only talked to my stylists. She had a high voice that did not match her impressive demeanour, and she always complained that she had horrible Tributes to dress.

She frog-marched me out to the elevator, and, as we reached a place where there were those creepy servants or Capitol Attendants were, suddenly she loved me. She had her arm around my shoulder and started talking to me about my district and what I did, but as soon as the elevator doors shut, she stepped as far away from me as she could and stared out of the glass wall.

The same thing happened when we reached the bottom, I was guided out by the merry Celestial Shimmer and she led me to where my chariot was. Gabriella was not here yet, but most of the other Tributes were arranged in pairs around their chariots.

Celestial left me with a silent glare, and stalked off, her boots clicking on the rough concrete floor. I was bored and felt the need to annoy (since I hadn't annoyed others my age for about two days) so I set of to the carriage behind of me.

"Hi," I said, to the two Tributes of district Eight as they hung around their chariot. I had noticed this boy from the Reaping. He had elongated limbs, and the starved look of someone who lived on the streets. But, nevertheless, he smiled tauntingly as he looked at me.

"Hey," he said back, blinking his charcoaled eyes at me. The girl from his district turned her back on us. He rolled one of his long arms at me, showing how double-jointed it was. I was kind of grossed out, to be honest. "Name?" he inquired.

"Isaac," I drew out the a's in my name. "You?"

"Marhkuhs, with two h's, and a k." He replied.

"That's a mouthful to say whenever you introduce yourself," I answered back snappily. He chuckled, and, with a smile, I left Marhkuhs with two h's and a k to his devices, and walked onto the next carriage.

District Nine weren't nearly as warm as Eight, yet I found joy in frightening the horse and causing both Tributes to scream profanities at me. Ten scared me too much, both Tributes being monstrous, so I moved on quickly, but I got more nice people at Eleven.

The twins both had dark skin, about the same rich brown as the tree trunk wrapped around my waist, and had hair as black as pitch. Their eyes were a tawny colour, and they were both dressed in overalls complete with studded boots and hats. "Hi," I said tentatively, still recovering from the glares I got from Ten.

"Hi," the girl chirped to me, smiling toothily. I had no idea how these two fifteen-year-olds got booed onto stage, but they seemed perfectly adorable to me.

"Heyoo," the boy said at the same time as his sister. They both had curling hair, only the girls fell to her lower back and the boy's was short at the back.

"I'm Isaac," I said, gaining my confidence fast.

"I'm Rhodo," the boy said, holding out his hand for me to take. I shook it hesitantly, thinking he was going to try and break my hand, but all he did was shake it.

"I'm Honey," the girl said.

"As in Suckle," her brother, Rhodo, added, grinning. I looked at him, confused.

"Yeah, Honeysuckle. And his," Honey jerked her finger in Rhodo's direction "Is as in Rhododendron." I clapped a hand to my forehead, realising that the plants were their full names.

"Right. Well, my full name is Isaac... just Isaac." I smiled and moved on to the last carriage, and leant casually against the coal-black horse. Both Tribute's costumes were _definitely_ worse than mine. The girl was in a neon-yellow two-piece coal mining outfit, the first piece of which barely covered her breasts and the second piece barely reached the tops of her thighs. She was covered with black dust, and her red hair was tangled. The boy, who was sitting on the side of the carriage, had, again, neon-yellow clothing that was just shorts and dust, his black hair snarled. They both had heavy liner around their eyes.

"Hi," I said, making the girl jump and the boy turn his head sharply. The boy smiled mischievously at me but the girl just greased me off. "I'm Isaac," I said to the boy. He stood up, and I noticed how similar in height we were. When he faced me, all I had to do was look straight ahead and I would be staring into eerily light grey eyes.

"Hi," he said "I'm Jonathan. And that," he pointed to the red-headed girl that was his district partner "Is Gracie. Right Gracie?"

The girl turned and glared at Jonathan, who was grinning at her. "It's Gracewyn, Jon, and you _know_ how I hate being called Gracie. Now come back over here and quit talking to Jack." She glared at me again.

"It's _Isaac_, Gracie." I drew out the 'r' in her name, knowing very well that she had known my name when she called me Jack. I turned back to Jonathan. "So, coal mining. Must be fun if all the girls wear that." I nodded in Gracewyn's direction. She huffed, flipped me off and turned her back on Jonathan and me.

Jonathan, for his part, grinned at me. "Sadly, we don't actually wear this when we work. And I'm guessing," he waved an airy hand like we were talking about the weather "That your trees don't look exactly like your representing them." I looked down at my green torso and smirked at him.

"Right you are." I answered. I walked slowly back to my carriage and found Gabriella waiting for me. "Hey, hey," I said as I walked up. I noticed a glint of relief in her eyes before she snapped at me.

"Where were you?" she snapped. I gestured to the Tributes in line behind our carriage.

"Talking." I answered. She gave a surprised look to the carriages.

"With _them?_" she looked aghast.

"No, with the President," I snarled, feeling offended on behalf of the people I just met. "They're people too," I added. She opened her mouth to retort when a voice came over a speaker, telling all us Tributes to board our carriages. I looked around for our stylists, thinking they would have some last minute tips for us, but they were nowhere to be seen. I gave Gabriella a quick look over and saw she was practically as bare as me. Her tree-trunk pants wound higher than mine, brown, sinewy material covering most of her breasts and stopping there. She was wearing green contacts, like me, and her hair was also a dull, washed out green, mirroring mine. Basically, we could have been the same tree.

I leapt up onto the carriage and, being the gentleman I am, offered Gabriella a hand up after me. She took my hands, bewildered, and I helped her up steadily onto the carriage. She looked at me shrewdly, trying to figure out my alternate angle. But I just let go of her hands and she blinked and looked away, pretending to watch the monsters from One roll out, waving and flexing to the crowd.


	4. All Dressed Up and Everywhere to Parade

As the Tributes from Six rolled out, my hands started shaking again. I coughed and clenched my fists. I stared at our horses, which were the same colour as the trunk wrapped around my waist and I could hear the crowd roaring as this year's sacrifices rolled out. I felt sick, like my stomach was about to leave my body, and my heart was beating in my mouth and in my thumbs. I hoped my sweat didn't make my makeup run.

"Do we pose or something?" I asked, pleased to hear I disguised the tremor in my voice. Gabriella shrugged, not looking at me, so as our horses started rolling out, I struck a ridiculous tree pose and grinned, lips stretching wide over my newly white teeth, as the crowd cheered, clenching my teeth together hard so they would stop chattering. _I'm not scared, I'm not scared,_ I kept chanting in my head. The vibrating cart under my feet felt funny and I had to keep shifting my feet, but that was okay because that meant I could change pose as well. I shut my eyes, trying to convince myself that I was back on the train inside the roaring shower. It didn't help.

About halfway round the track I opened my eyes and glanced sideways at Gabriella. Whilst I was balancing on one leg and had my arms raised, she was standing stock-still and was glaring, chin up, at the crowd. I half wanted to poke her to see if we could start a fight on the carriages, but instead I said, "You're not going to win people over if you just stand there." I stood down and looked critically at her. Gabriella turned her ferocious eyes on me, but I just raised my eyebrows in response.

"Pose with me!" I commanded, pointing at her authoritatively but my lips twitched as I tried to hold back a smile.

She turned away. "No," she answered just as firmly.

"Fine!" I cried, grinning. I posed again, laughing and waving to the crowd when I fell or wobbled. Some waved back, but we didn't hold much attention. I didn't mind. I hoped I was the only one who could see my hands shaking.

When we reached the apex of the City Circle, our ride in the carriages came to a halt, lining up so we could see the President. President Statia was, if possible, even more fatherly in person. He smiled kindly at all us Tributes (like he wasn't sending us to our deaths, just inviting us to his home for a week), greeted Panem and started a rumbling speech on something. I didn't even listen long enough to find out.

I started looking at the crowd, not even bothering to pretend to listen to him. I could see some citizens staring at me, and I waved to them. A girl of about fifteen with bubblegum-pink hair seemed to faint, but her friend, not bothering to catch her, leant as far as she could over the railing and waved ecstatically back. I gave her a thumbs-up and pointed to her hair, which was long, bright blue bobbles. She blushed beetroot red (not a good look with the blue hair), but placed her hands on her heart and mouthed 'thank you' back to me. I winked at her and she went, if possible, even redder, and ducked her head. When she looked back up, her eyes were shining and she looked ready to faint as well. Thankfully, right then, President Statia finished and I turned hastily to start clapping. I noticed, though, that Gabriella was staring at me funny and half the crowd was looking at me, opened-mouthed. I shrugged in a 'what're-you-gonna-do' fashion at them, and as we started rolling back, I noticed we were a lot more popular with the mass of citizens. I don't know why, maybe because I was the first Tribute to give any recognition at all that there was a crowd of millions cheering for them. But we were still insignificant compared to the people cheering for Tributes from Districts One, Two, Four and Ten.

It wasn't until we arrived on the Seventh floor that Gabriella spoke to me. Well, more liked yelled.

"What the _hell_ was that?" She shrieked to me. I was taken aback for a second, sure that the shock registered on my face, but before I could reply, Rowan stormed over and started yelling at me too.

"Why would you even _dare_ to do that?" He bellowed. He shoved my shoulder just lightly enough that I actually took a step back, my heel hitting the glass full-length window overlooking the city, and I could feel my eyebrows pull up incredulously. "You insulted our President! Do have _any_ idea how serious this is?" Rowan continued. My mouth hardened but I didn't say anything, just tried to stop it pulling down in the corners. I was so tired.

"We'll be lucky to get any sponsors now!" Gabriella snarled, and she and Rowan started advancing on me, both screeching at me about how important our first presentation to Panem was. I pressed my hands flat against the glass behind me, and pushed backwards. I felt my shoulder blades squash against the glass wall, and I felt like I was folding myself against it, and if I could fall through I would.

This wasn't like being yelled at by the Carers or Mrs Ferwere; this was horrible. This wasn't about doing chores or scaring people; this was about my life. These two people in front of me were telling me I was going to die, and that they would be glad if I did. Most of the time these comments would bounce off me, but not today. Today I'd been introduced to a new place, had people criticise and change my appearance, been told over and over again that I wasn't good enough and now, apparently, I was disgraced and sure to die. And I was dead tired. Pun not intended.

"Don't," I breathed, shutting my eyes and tipping my head back against the glass. They continued to shout at me. "Stop it," I said louder. They continued, and a sharp whine started forming through my head. I had a headache that was so painful a brought one of my hands up to my temple, but soon flattened it back against the glass, afraid I would fall if I didn't have both hands supporting me. I couldn't take much more of this whining. "Stop it, stop it, STOP IT," I shouted, my eyes snapping open, and before even I knew what I was doing, I had slammed both of my palms into Rowan's chest and sent him skidding across the polished wooden floor. I backhanded Gabriella across the face and, as she collapsed to the floor, I ran to the room that was mine for now, slamming the door behind me. Knowing I didn't have much time I slid the bedside cabinet in front of the lockless door and then the chest of drawers. Breathing heavily I sat down on my bed, pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes and said quietly to no one "I'll move them in the morning." Since a squad of Peacekeepers didn't come and barge down my door, I guess somebody heard me and was content to let me have a few hours of solidarity.

I shimmied out of my bark and took a shower and washed off all the paint as the hammering on my door began. I watched the green water stain and swirl down the drain, thinking of how, maybe, I should think more before I act. I didn't cry or, if I did, it mixed with the water and I pretended not to notice. Finally my hair was back to the black of night and the only thing that remained of my time being a tree was my absurdly green eyes. I didn't know how to take the contacts out, but, luckily, as soon as I touched one with my forefinger the contact just lifted from my eyeball and I flicked them into the bin. My eyes were back to the brown of dead autumn leaves.

I put on some green slacks and realised the striking on my door had stopped. I tentatively walked up to it and listened. I couldn't hear anyone, but I wasn't game enough to open the door in case Rowan or Gabriella was waiting out there to ambush me. I slid the bedside cabinet back beside the huge bed, though, and arranged the chest more neatly in front of the door.

As I lay on top of the blankets on the bed, my hands stretched out, stroking the fluffy comforter, my stomach growled. I realised I hadn't eaten since lunch today, which seemed so long ago. Back then, I was just another Tribute who, even though the odds were slim, had a chance to win. Now, not only were the other Tributes going to try and kill me, which was preordained anyway, but the Capitol would be after me as well. I was a marked boy. I would not consider myself a man anymore.

My stomach sent angry signals to my brain, and it snarled at me again. I rolled over and crushed it against the duvet. The texture felt strange against my bare chest, and I bit into my pillow, wishing I could open my door without being scared. But no, I wasn't scared.

_I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not..._ I buried my face into a pillow and when I woke the next morning, I could almost convince myself that it was drool that had kept my pillow wet throughout the night.

I walked meekly to breakfast the next morning, but realised it must be too early for anyone else to be up except for those creepy servants. I got a bowl and my hunger took over again, so I dolled about half of everything onto my plate. I tried to ignore the pity in the eyes of the servants, but it made me grouchy to see them staring at me out of the corners of my eyes. There was one girl who had her blond hair in a twist, whose creased eyebrows were actually ruining her makeup, so eventually, after my second helping of food, I snapped and sent her away. My yelling seemed to rouse others though, so as soon as I heard footsteps, I started wolfing down my bowl. Lexandra and her assistant emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms, and the assistant set Lexandra in the seat opposite me, and went and served himself some food from the buffet table. When he returned, he nodded to me in a casual way, and I thought that maybe not everyone hated me. But then Rowan emerged and walked purposefully towards the table. I swallowed my last bite with some difficulty, downed my juice, wiped my mouth and scooted around the opposite side of the table to him as he sat. I darted back to the bedroom hallways just as Gabriella appeared. I dodged around her, and felt the tiniest pang of guilt at the site of her black eye and bruised cheek.

"You can't avoid us forever!" She called after me as I ran down the hallway, and I just reached my room when I heard and soft, scared voice call,

"Ike?" I turned to see Cameria looking shyly at me. My hand on the doorknob, I answered.

"Hello," My voice was low. She seemed to be relieved that I was talking.

"Won't you come and have breakfast?" She gestured to the opposite end of the hallway, where I had just come from.

"Oh, no, I just ate. But thank you," I added formally. I realised I really shouldn't have had orange juice after eating mint porridge as the flavours reappeared in my mouth.

"Alright." She said stiffly. I tried smiling at her, but as soon as it came to my lips it wobbled and I couldn't keep it there. "Just be at the elevator in," She checked an elaborately adorned clock on one of her rings. "An hour."

"What should I wear?" I asked.

"Surprise me," She snapped and as she twitched off down the hall, I realised I had just lost my biggest admirer.

After a shower and a lengthy rummage through the chest of drawers (which was now back against the wall), I emerged from my room with new clothes and a new attitude. I was dressed in brown lace-up boots, soft brown pants, an evergreen long-sleeved shirt and a green knit-cap to sit among my curls. I walked out with a bounce in my step, my eyebrows slightly drawn together, and my mouth in a hard line. I stood firmly by the elevator, shoulders back. I was not going to let anyone bully me. I hated cowering and I hated adults. I would not cower to adults.

Cameria came clip-clopping to the elevator and so did Gabriella, who was smirking and chatting to Rowan, who accompanied her. They both ignored me, which I was fine with, but I casually listened in on their conversation, whilst greeting Cameria. What can I say; I'm a multi-tasker.

Cameria smiled briefly at me with yellow lips then turned towards the elevator. "So just evaluate today," Rowan said to Gabriella "You have to rest of the week to make allies with the others. I would recommend going for the heavier weapons today and listening well to the instructors. Alright?" My counterpart nodded, and the elevator came. I stepped aside to let Gabriella through, and Rowan, who was _my_ mentor, didn't even say a word as he spun on his heel and left.

We arrived in the training centre in silence. I noticed Gabriella was dressed all in white: whether it was a tactic by Rowan or she never wore anything so clean before, I don't know. Her cheek and black eye were artfully covered by makeup. Anyway, when we arrived, I went to stand by the wrestling station while she went to stand by the line of spears. Neither of us said goodbye to Cameria, which seemed to suit her just fine as she trot off. The only other Tributes here were the two from Three, the girl of which was trembling and had puffy eyes, and the two from Six were standing, shoulder-to-shoulder.

For the first time, I got to see the Tributes without makeup. When Gracewyn and Jonathan walked in, Jonathan immediately strolled over to me and clapped me on the shoulder. Gracewyn looked mortified, but trailed in his wake and stood meekly at his shoulder like she was going to have a spear thrown at her by being near me.

Jonathan, on the other hand, flung an arm around my shoulders and kept me in conversation till the instructor came in and told us promptly to shut up. The Twins from Eleven gravitated towards us, too, when they entered, and smiled endearingly at me as they took places on my other side. I introduced them to Jonathan, who grinned lazily at them.

Finally, after we were debriefed, we got to try out the weapons. I noticed Gabriella glowering at me and my new comrades as we all headed for the same station, not talking but obviously comfortable with the other's company. Except maybe Gracewyn, who was all but clinging to Jonathan's arm as she tried, and failed, to not look at me, the big Traitor from District Seven.

We tried sword fighting, which was hard but Jonathan seem to have a knack for it, then wrestling, which none of us were any good at. And, truthfully, I didn't really like getting repeatedly slammed to the grown and getting wrapped in sweaty limbs and smelly clothes. Then we advanced to archery, and Honeysuckle was the only one who left without a stinging forearm. Dagger-throwing was disastrous, and the only person whose spear managed to land point-down was Gracewyn. We didn't even go near the maces and we were just about to decide on where to go next when the instructor called us to lunch.

Tables of two were scattered about the room, and there was a giant buffet table on one side. I saw the Monster Tributes pull four tables together and all load their plates with protein-filled pieces of meat and veggies. I turned to ask my new 'friends' if we should pull some tables together, but they were already headed for the buffet. I ground my teeth and stalked after them.

I dished out a mountain, being very hungry after training all morning. My group were all sitting at tables with their District correspondents, and I saw Gabriella sitting by herself, leering at me to see whether I had the guts to go and sit with her.

I didn't.

I marched myself over to the boy from District Eight, Marhkuhs with two 'h's and a 'k', whose District partner was seated somewhere else and sat down in the opposite seat. I nodded to his surprised expression and started tearing into a bread roll that tasted slightly salty, ignoring Gabriella's sniggers.

We didn't talk, but sat in a gloomy silence; I think we were both feeling slightly abandoned. But the kid could eat, I can say that. Marhkuhs went back four times, coming back each time with a full plate. I had seconds but that was all. I kept my eyes averted from Gabriella, but whenever I forgot to prevent myself looking I saw her neglecting her knife and fork again, and the person sitting across from her clearly regretting their decision.

"So..." Suddenly Marhkuhs turned to me, setting his cutlery down and blinking, breaking our silence. I saw the kids next to us turn their heads. Nobody else was talking except the Monsters over on their big table, so this was new. I kept my gaze on Marhkuhs, though.

His eyes were a dark blue, and his hair was a deep auburn. Some freckles dotted his face, and he smiled at me, showing perfect white teeth that were probably imperfect and yellow-ish before he came to the Capital. With a jolt in my stomach, I realised he may kill me. His smile, the one being slashed at me right at this moment, may be the last thing I ever see as he ends my life.

"What's Seven like?" He asked me, and I snapped out of my frightening thoughts. I thought back to home, thinking of the tall trees, the smell of pine and the ever-moving people.

"Green." I decided. "It always smells like pine, and there are always bits of tree bark and wood chips on the roads." I breathed in a deep breath through my nose then, like I was trying to smell the pine from here. Instead, I got a big whiff of fish. Eurgh.

"I've never smelt pine." Marhkuhs said blatantly, shuffling in his seat eagerly. My eyes widened. Pine was so common it was almost a nuisance in Seven. I can't imagine never smelling it. "There aren't many trees in Eight. Lots of smog though, but I doubt that smells as good as pine." He smiled dryly at me.

"Well, maybe you'll smell it when we-" I stopped myself before saying it, saying 'start the Games'. I couldn't fathom it, and I didn't want this stranger to feel dread because I reminded him of it. He looked confused for a bit, and then his features softened into a look that was half pity, half fear.

"Why did you stop talking? Everyone knows where we're going." He said bitterly. My mouth twisted.

"Because, I suppose, I didn't want you to think about it." My heart started beating faster in fear of what was to come and I swallowed. I picked up my empty glass and went to the buffet table to refill it with something fizzy for something to do.

When I returned, he said fiercely "I'm not scared, if that's what you're worried about." His eyes were angry, either at me for being pitying or at himself, I couldn't tell. But I was good at reading expressions: I could always pick up what orphan was lying back home. Marhkuhs was lying, I could see it plainly. Behind those dark blue eyes, I could see my own terror reflected clearly.

"Me neither," I said indifferently, but he held my gaze and I knew he saw that I was lying, too. The instructor called us back to training and Marhkuhs grinned at me as we left the table, and I couldn't help but smile instinctually back at him, and for some reason, my tiny act of kindness made a big difference in my attitude that day. It was like a bubble in my chest, a little piece of myself that I liked, something that I hadn't felt for three months. It was like a little bubble of hope.


	5. I Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier

It was the last day of training before our private sessions, which were tomorrow. My Hope Bubble was still there, right where my heart is, and I think that it's what has got me through these days of training.

I've turned into an optimist. That's what my Hope has done. Every time Rowan or Gabriella make snide or outright rude comments to me, I just smile at them and thank them, sarcastically, for their opinion and that I'd take it to heart and try to change their view of my chances. But I do, I've been telling them the truth.

They tell me I'm weak, so I do the strength course once a day at the training centre. Gabriella grudgingly tells Rowan that I've done just that, he makes a face at my smug look and they insult me for something else. Soon I was doing strength course, stamina training and tree/wall climbing training whenever I could. I liked climbing the best: I'm pretty good at trees, having grown up in Seven, but I struggled with walls. And the instructor's name was Foofoo Schmidt, and he made me laugh, simply by being called Foofoo. But he thought his jokes were funny, so we were all happy.

Rhododendron thought my new regime was cool, so he proceeded to join me the two mornings before lunch, which was when all this would take place. The only morning class he didn't do with me was climbing; as he demonstrated on the first day of climbing class, he was an amazing climber already.

My three classes usually lasted until lunch, at which I would now sit with Marhkuhs. Soon, because of our boisterous talking and debates, more Tributes would gravitate towards us, and soon Jonathan and Gracewyn had joined their table to ours, as had Rhodo and Honey and the boy from Six and the boy from Five, but I think the boy from Five, who was like Lexandra, had only sat opposite the boy from Six because he was attracted to the loud noises and happy faces we were making.

After lunch, I went back to my group. We tried out the camouflage section (I was adept, but not fantastic- those were the instructors words, not mine. I thought I looked like a perfectly real bright pink, almost-six-foot flower), the edible plants section (Apparently I died three times!), the knot tying and weaving section (which I could do), snares, blowguns (which I was quite the master at, may I say) and, just when I thought I could just go into the arena and attack people with a stick, I discovered my whip. My lovely, lovely whip. It was made of supple brown leather and had a heavy butt that, the instructor told me, could be used to bludgeon someone.

I had never seen a whip used in a Hunger Games before, but after a few tries by all of us and lots of stinging body parts; I managed to get a sharp, satisfactory _crack_ and felt the whip judder under my hand as the air stirred. I grinned at them, and Jonathan gave me a thumbs up, Rhodo and Honeysuckle said "Well done!" in unison and even Gracewyn managed a smile over the slight red welt on her face that was from her misaimed whip. I think she was warming to me.

So now it was the final day of training before the private sessions tomorrow, and, as we agreed beforehand, we split off the practice the things we were good at. As I headed over to the blowgun area first I saw Marhkuhs headed for the wrestling section. By the look of his clothes; a black singlet, three-quarter shorts and running shoes, he was going to be there all day. I didn't regret telling him to work on what he was best at yesterday. My Hope told me too, and I was kind of addicted to small acts of kindness now.

Rhododendron headed for the baton section, and Honeysuckle was walking in the direction of the bows and arrows. It was the first time they'd split up all week. Gracewyn was already at the spear section of the room and Jonathan was just arriving at the sword fighting arena, where he was looking along the types of swords.

When it was lunch, as I sat down Marhkuhs came over with his usual loaded plate and I beamed at him. It was strange how he was the one I was most kind too, but I think it was because he was the most different, and he had happily, bravely, told me his story. He was like Gabriella: he had lived on the streets all his life, but instead of selling his body, he busked to get food. He would do acrobatics with his strange limbs which wouldn't get him much but hatred. But what got me to respect him is that every day for a week he put up with the crap I spouted out and just laughed at me: Gabriella was ready to kill me the first time I spoke to her. And he had being going it alone for eighteen years, so I wanted to show him some kindness before one of us died.

Rhododendron and Honeysuckle were a completely different kettle of fish, though. As they told me, their father was Head Peacekeeper in their town, which is why, I presumed, everybody of Eleven voted for them. I decided I was going soft when I felt so sorry for them, and I wished they had a mental-toughening-up course at the Training Centre.

Marhkuhs smiled back at me in a bemused sort of way, and started stuffing food into his mouth. Another thing that differed from him to Gabriella is that he actually attempted to use a knife and fork. Though he used it as a two year old would and shovelled food into his mouth, you could at least watch him eat: with Gabriella, you wanted to vomit when you watched her, knowing she will be doing that very thing that night from the richness and the quantity she had eaten.

I ate only one plate of food today- Marhkuhs and I were cutting down, knowing that we shouldn't get used to too much food. He only went back for seconds, though. But when they bought the dessert cart out- seeing as it was our last day and they wanted to give us a good send-off- we exchanged a look, and then leapt up and filled our plate with delicacies.

The whip station had an occupant when I got there. Gabriella was attempting, futilely, to crack a beginners whip. The woman running the station was trying to give her tips, but Gabriella wasn't listening, and just kept throwing the end of the whip onto the floor, and looking at it murderously like she was going to come back and chop it up at midnight if it didn't work for her right then.

"You're holding it wrong," I called to her, just repeating what the instructor had been preaching to her for the last five minutes. I could practically hear the muscles and tendons in her neck cry out in pain as her head turned towards me at lightning speed. Her black eye was finally gone, and it was lucky it had because the stink-eye she was giving me now would have been painful to the bruised muscles.

I'm not sure, but I think she may have growled at me, then. She threw the whip back to the instructor and stalked past me, hitting her shoulder into mine as she did so. I think it hurt her more than it did me, so I just chuckled, which led to her kicking a barrel of maces on her way over to the snare station.

I gave an apologetic look that may have turned to a slight look of disgust at the instructor, and I grabbed a whip and started practicing. I chose a whip that was slightly ornamented: it had three tassels at the end and a criss-crossed grip on the butt for better holding. It was a light, rich brown colour: the colour of the necklace girl's eyes. I smiled, thinking of home. The whip felt good in my hands, comfortable. Maybe a bit light, but I'd get used to it. My first crack missed and hit my thigh and I jumped around a bit and took in great shuddering gasps like a retard until the pain stopped, and then I tried again. This time the air crackled under the tip, and I got a round of quiet clapping from the instructor, and it just went up from there.

By the end of the day, I was sweating and tired and my arm was sore, as were various parts of my body where I had missed (I'm not perfect) but I was content that I would get above four in the scores tomorrow. I joined Jonathan, Gracewyn and Gabriella in an elevator and pressed the 'Seven' button. Jonathan leaned closely around me to press the 'Twelve'. Gracewyn started glaring at me, and then, as we started to ascend, Jonathan turned to Gabriella.

"So, you're Gabbie, are you?" Jonathan smirked. I had told them all how annoying Gabriella and Rowan were, and how Rowan was not giving me any advice, so they had taken it upon themselves to relay some of the advice to me they were getting from their mentors. I was very touched. Though they may have been giving me utter crap, I don't even know but the thought, however malevolent the intention, was nice.

Gabriella turned to me and snarled, "Having you been telling stories about me, _Isaac_?" I cocked an eyebrow and smiled maliciously at her, but didn't answer.

I was surprised she was desperate enough to try a last-ditch effort to make allies. I wanted to see how far she could get, so I pressed my lips together to stop myself from laughing as she flipped her long ebony hair back, threw out her chest (like only a prostitute knew how), cocked one knee and smiled (even I admit) a little glamorously at Jonathan. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger, dimpled at him and said, "Oh, but you don't actually _believe_ what he's been saying about me, do you?"

I saw Gracewyn transfer her glare from me to Gabriella and intensify it by tenfold, but Jonathan just flicked his raven-coloured hair out of his eyes and looked very amusedly at Gabriella.

"Because..." Gabriella continued, her voice growing huskier as she took the few steps that would take her as close to Jonathan as she could get without actually touching him. "I'd really like for you to get to know the _real_ me." She breathed, and looked up at him through her lashes.

Jonathan and I burst out laughing at the same time, and as the elevator pinged at floor 7, Cameria found me on my hands and knees, crying with mirth; Gabriella, storming, red-faced out of the elevator and Jonathan, slouched against the wall, one hand on my back the other pounding the glass wall as he laughed silently. Gracewyn was smiling pointedly as she watched Gabriella almost run out of the elevator but turned her frown back on as she glanced over to me and Jonathan shaking with laughter.

Cameria 'tsked' and whisked me out of the elevator. I lifted my hand and made a silent signal to Jonathan and Gracewyn as they continued up to the twelfth floor and stumbled drunkenly to the table with my escort and tears streaming down my face.

"What was that?" Cameria asked me, and I looked up hopefully through blurred, teary vision at the sound of the poorly disguised laughter in her voice.

I breathlessly told her the story and by the end she had her butter-yellow lips pressed tightly together and was smiling at me. I beamed back and she started chatting away about her day to me and I couldn't help the tiny drop of relief that went through me: maybe if I won Cameria back, I could win the whole of Panem back with my Interview. Maybe I could win back my chance.

At dinner I sat between Cameria and Lexandra's assistant. Whenever I caught Cameria's eye we'd both glance at Gabriella and smile cheekily, and I even burst out laughing a couple of times, which earned me a sulky glare from Gabriella, an arched eyebrow from Rowan, an amused glance from Lexandra's Assistant and sometimes Cameria would even join in with me. It was wonderful.

"It's a big, big, big day." I said sleepily to Jonathan as we sat against a wall. Tributes from One and Two had already done their private sessions, but there was still a long way to go. Jonathan was sitting on one side of me, Marhkuhs on the other. A lot of the other Tributes were sitting with their District partners today, but no one told us off for sitting together so we decided we could.

"Wanna hear something funny?" Jonathan said, rolling his head towards me from where it rested on the wall behind him.

"Sure," I said, meeting his blue-grey eyes with my own. He smiled.

"Last night, Gracie and I went up to the roof, since we have the penthouse, right?" Jonathan started, grinning from trying to retain his laughter. "So, when we were up there, cos we've know each other for ages, yeah, like, even before the Reaping, and she started asking me if I thought Gabbie was good looking and my opinion on her and stuff." I started laughing then, but Jonathan added, "Hey, I'm not at the best part yet!"

I wanted to know what was better than that, so I stopped laughing, and I felt Marhkuhs shift beside me and knew he was listening too. "So I said she really wasn't my type, right?" Jonathan started again.

"True that," I nodded. Jonathan made a face.

"And then she was all in my face, like, 'What is your type?'" Jonathan put on a high pitch voice that I assumed was supposed to represent Gracewyn. "'What is your type, Jon? What is it?' And I was all like, woah there, step away." He made pushing motions with his arms, and I assumed again that he was pushing away an invisible Gracewyn from where she had invaded his personal space. "And then, all of a sudden, she said, 'I'd be really disappointed if you died, Jon,' and did that thing that Gabriella did and looked at me through her eyelashes!" He was acting astounded now, and I pressed my lips together to stop laughing. Gracewyn's glaring all made sense now. "And then, she stepped _real_," he drew out the word. "Close to me again and it didn't click with me what she was going to try to do until then- I know, I'm stupid- and I ran. I _actually _bolted out of there to my room and locked the door and," he looked over to where Gracewyn was now, slouched against a wall like we were, but alone, "She hasn't looked at me since!" I heard Marhkuhs let out a snort beside me and I chuckled too.

"We're so mean," I laughed, as Jonathan started giggling too.

"Yeah," Jonathan agreed letting his head roll back on the wall and shutting his eyes, giving me a nice show of the expanse of his neck.

"How do you know her- Gracewyn?" Marhkuhs asked, peering around me to look at Jonathan. "It must be hard to be here with someone you know. Well, I mean. Know well."

Jonathan kept his head facing the ceiling but smiled in what I could only assume was nostalgia. "She's the daughter of the Peacekeeper in Twelve that dealt punishments. I was caught a lot, from stealing and _stuff_, and she would either watch me get disciplined or wheedle me out of the punishments. It's funny now," He smile dimmed a little and I felt disappointed; "How I didn't realise she liked me."

I looked over at Gracewyn, only to see her eyes flicker from us to the ceiling as she was caught staring. "She is very pretty," I looked back to Jonathan and wagged my eyebrows and laughed.

He shrugged. "Like I said, she's not my type. And I'm in the Hunger Games, there's no point doing anything now, even if I did like her. Even if I liked anyone here,"

"I suppose that is the truth. You're just lucky to have someone to like you," Marhkuhs said grimly, scuffing his shoe against the carpet.

"I'm sure that, if you win," Jonathan's eyebrows rose haughtily, "You'll have a million girls screaming your name." His eyes narrowed jokingly. "What about you, Isaac?" Jonathan turned to me. "Got a girl?"

"Nope," I popped the 'p' and remembered, in a different conversation, right after I was Reaped, the girl who gave me her necklace. I wondered where that necklace had gotten to.

Suddenly the reality of what we were talking about hit me and I started laughing even more.

"What?" Marhkuhs said, eyebrows raised, bewildered.

"We're talking about girls! We're about to get ranked and probably get killed and we're talking about _girls_!" Jonathan and Marhkuhs exchanged looks and then started laughing too, and we only stopped when a Peacekeeper stalked over and told us to be quiet, and we shut up right away. That's when I knew that they were as afraid as I was. And, impossibly, before The End, I had made two friends that were the closest I'd ever had.

And I may have to see them die.

"Alldrenn, Isaac." The Peacekeeper called from the training room. I stood up and waved to the remaining Tributes. Jonathan, Marhkuhs and the Twins from Eleven waved back, Gabriella flipped me off, Gracewyn glared and the rest just ignored me.

I was completely jittery with nerves, adrenaline coursing through my body. I tapped my fingers against my thighs as I walked in, and chewed on the inside of my lip, trying to slow my breathing. _I can do this, I can do this, don't be scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared,_ I thought to myself. And, for the moment, I allowed myself to believe it.

I walked in with my head held high. This was one of my two chances to show Panem I wasn't a complete disrespectful Tribute. That I was worth betting on.

I nodded to the Peacekeeper who had called my name, and then again to the Game Makers who sat around on a balcony-type thing above the Centre where they could see, and they nodded (some waved) back and one I took to be the Head said, "Go ahead." And then I started.

I bounced for a few seconds on the balls of my feet, and then sprinted off towards the climbing wall, running up about halfway before I had to actually start climbing. I was up and over the third wall before my side started aching. I hadn't gone this fast or hard before, but I wanted to make a good impression, so I didn't stop. I was wheezing a little when I flew over the last wall, but I did it.

I took a second to grab my breath, and then headed toward the whip area. I grab the same whip I used the other day and start cracking it around me like the instructor said to do to impress them. The technique was used to scare people.

I then approached the dummies that were set up around the place for Tributes to use and demonstrated my 'prowess' on them. I cracked a dummies arm, causing a synthetic light to glow under his 'skin' to show the damage level; wrapped my whip around another dummies neck and pretended to choke it, which was awesome until I had to walk over and untangle it; and then, finally, after lots of extravagant arm waving, I flick the nose clean off of one of the dummies and a deep red glow bleed out around the 'wounded' area and they told me I could leave.

I waved a little sheepishly at them as I left and held myself up straight until I was out of sight and then gave in to the stitch that was in my side by bending over and wheezing. I stayed cripple in the elevator and practically crawled out when I reached my level, and had to get one of the silent servants to help me to my room so I could take a bath and release my muscles.

After my bath, I dressed in a soft robe and ordered some fried potatoes to my room. They came in a big bowl with some sort of red dipping sauce and a bottle of vinegar. Vinegar was very expensive in Seven, and I remember I chipped a tooth when I got beaten for stealing a bottle of it. I recognised it because of the smell. I wondered what it would have to do with the fried potatoes or sauce.

I munched slowly, pacing my room and trying to stretch out my muscles. They were sore but I knew I had to stretch them to get them back into shape. There was a bookshelf on one side of the room, but I don't know many words or many books for that matter, so I gave up after looking at a couple of titles. A television was on the other side of the room, so I flicked on the switch and watched a bit of a replay for the 13th Hunger Games. It was the end, and the last Tributes were herded to a huge, dusty valley where they fought brutally but weakly- both were dehydrated. Finally the boy from Three overpowered the other boy from Five and broke his windpipe. I switched the television off, frightened. You could see the boy's windpipe sticking out of his throat.

I went and vomited my fried potatoes, vinegar and dipping sauce in my fancy bathroom, and then forced a window in my room open and threw the rest of the food and the bowl out, only to see it fly back towards me as it hit some kind of force field. It was kind of lucky they did, because I didn't want to explain the disappearance of the bowl or the unexpected murder of a civilian walking seven floors down who was hit on the head by falling ceramics. Instead, I brought the chips outside in their bowl after picking them up off the floor (what? It's not like the floor was dirty in this place), slapped a smile on my face and shared them with Cameria and Lexandra's assistant while Lexandra beamed at nothing beside us.

We sat on the couch that night after dinner, anxiously waiting for the scores to be announced. I sat with my knees tucked to my chest with my chin sitting on top, staring blankly while we waited. Gabriella was sitting with her feet in Rowan's lap, and Lexandra was sitting next to Rowan. I was seated next to Lexandra's assistant (who I needed to learn the name of) and Cameria was on my other side. We had got here a little early, so, when Cameria had switched the television on, they were replaying another old Games, so Rowan, Gabriella and I were looking anywhere but at the screen. I saw Rowan's hands twitching and his mouth quirking and my Kindness sort of pushed me to feel sorry for him. But it was hard. I sort of threw him a wobbly eyebrow, but that's all I could muster to the man who wouldn't bat an eyelash if I died. But I tried. Maybe.

The Capitol Anthem sounded from the television, then, and I knew the scores were about to come up. I now sat rigidly with both feet on the floor and my hands clenched in my lap. Bunny Crosswire and Emlyn Fuut appeared on the screen, smiling and greeting us. They didn't waste time but jumped right into the scores, starting, of course, with District One. This time I didn't flinch or look away when the Monsters' pictures came onto the screen. Typically, their scores were ranged from eight to eleven, but maybe this year we'd get a twelve. This year_ is_ special, after all.

The scores dropped dramatically at District Three. The boy got a five, but the girl only got a two. I don't even know how she gotten that, I'm pretty sure the only way to get below three was to stand there in the training centre and do nothing. I tried to remember her. I think she was thrown on stage at the Reaping, and has fought her Reaping ever since, throwing tantrums and crying every day.

District Four were monsters again, getting ten and nine. Then there was Five and Six who again bought the average down to around five and then Bunny and Emlyn were presenting District Seven. Emlyn smiled a bit too widely at the camera and hoisted her bare leg into view for about the fifth time in ten minutes, which I'm sure Bunny enjoyed but no one else did. "Isaac Alldrenn," Emlyn read off a piece of paper.

In a moment of childish desperation I reached out and grasped Cameria's hand. I knew she stood for everything I hated: adults, the Capitol's people, someone who enjoyed the Games, but I needed some comfort right now and she was one of the two people in this room that would have given it to me. It was the reaction of someone desperate. The reaction of a child.

"Seven," Emlyn said glitteringly. I fell back against the couch, smiling, as Cameria squeezed my hand and Lexandra's Assistant congratulated me. I even got a curt nod from Rowan, and I guessed he saw my pitying look. Well, my pitying eyebrow. Gabriella, on the other hand, didn't even look at me.

"Gabriella Vulthasson," Bunny read out, staring creepily at the camera. He had a twitchy eyebrow that annoyed me, and one of his ears was bigger than the other. I made a 'yuck' face at the television as he read out Gabriella's score. "Six," He said huskily. I was totally creeped out by this guy, but I turned and my Kindness sort of pushed me to murmur "Congrats," to Gabriella. She looked so shocked I laughed at her, which made her turn a dark shade of red, but in the end she smiled and laughed at her reaction with me. That was new.

"You too," She said quietly, and I would have got up and left after that, not being able to handle the stares of everyone in that room, but I couldn't, even though the staring was that bad that even Lexandra had been looking at me, I had to stay and see the scores of Marhkuhs, Honey and Rhodo, Jonathan and Gracewyn. I owed them that much.

Marhkuhs was next, and I saw he had received a six, the same as Gabriella. That was good. Honey and Rhodo received four a piece, which was quite cool, nothing special though. They got everything the same. It was almost creepy. Jonathan received an eight, which nicely surprised me; I'd have to congratulate him. I remembered his powerful arms wielding that sword, and thought he deserved more. I laughed when Emlyn added how handsome he looked in his headshot, and I knew Gracewyn would be spewing right now, and Jonathan himself rolling on the floor laughing. Then Gracewyn's headshot appeared and she also received an eight, which, by remembering those spears she could throw, was quite adequate. Maybe I'd have to congratulate them both, when I saw them.

I left as soon as Gracewyn's score was announced. Lexandra had _not_ stopped staring at me since I congratulated Gabriella and Gabriella herself was glancing at me every now and again and it was freaking me out. Pretty soon, the whole world would be watching me. I wanted some quality alone time with all the cameras that watched my every movement before I was being watched by the world.

At breakfast the next morning, all was back to normal. I made fun of Gabriella, she ignored me. Rowan doted on my rival, Cameria doted on me. All was right with the world, with the exception that it makes children fight to the death for free entertainment. I mean, at least charge them for it!

"Today is the final day," Rowan said slowly, and, when I looked up, I realised he was talking to Gabriella _and_ to me. "And Cameria and Lexandra and I are going to split up our time to tutor both of you for your final Interviews. You both will be doing posture and etiquette with Cameria and working on the actual Interview with us, meaning Isaac, you'll be with me and Gabriella, you're with Lexandra. I hope you have already got ideas on what you want to be your ploy, as we only have three hours each to incorporate lunch, dinner, and your resting time."

"What about tomorrow?" Gabriella piped up.

"Tomorrow, you will dedicate yourselves to your stylists, and, by the look of your costumes, you are going to need the whole day." Rowan answered, and I swallowed. I have to spend a whole day with Celestial Shimmer tomorrow? Not to mention Barette, Shinette and Lizette. But I suppose I'd survive. Maybe.

"So, Isaac, you'll be with me this morning and with Cameria in the afternoon. Alright?" Rowan said, and my fear grew immediately as I looked into his blue eyes. But all I said was, "Okay,"

I pushed my plate away after that and stayed huddled on my chair until everyone else finished, shoulders pushed up to my ears, biting my lip furiously. As I waited I realised I still didn't know Lexandra's Assistant's name. So I asked him, hesitantly, quietly. For some reason, I felt like I was in trouble.

He choked on his coffee, and it wasn't until he emerged from behind his cup, dripping, that I realise he was laughing. Good-naturedly. Huh. I realised he'd probably have a stupid Capitol name too, like Fuchsia or Houdini or something. I also found myself wanting him to have a sort of normal name.

"It's Darwin," He said from behind his napkin as he wiped the coffee off his face. That was a normal name. Maybe. But I liked it. It suited him, with his unchanged blue eyes and the normal pallor of his skin. The only thing unnatural about him was the bright yellow of his hair, the fact that he wore high-heeled shoes and his horrible colour sense. Blue and orange just don't go together.

"Why were you laughing?" I peered at him from the cover of my shoulders.

"Finished, Ike?" Rowan asked me before Darwin could answer, standing up from his chair. Darwin shrugged apologetically. My mouth went dry but I nodded and he took me to the second sitting area in the seventh floor.

"So," Rowan said, sitting in a high backed chair and gesturing for me to follow suit. I cautiously perched myself on an equally hard chair while Rowan sat forward and glared at me. My hands shook as I clenched them together and I took a shaky breath in and squeezed my eyes shut.

"Dude," Rowan said. I opened my eyes to find a completely different picture. Rowan was lounging casually in his chair and grinning teasingly at me. "I can practically smell your fear." My eyebrows went up in shock.

"What?" I snapped, pulling at a stray curl on my head.

"I'm not going to eat you, and I'm actually trying to help you. Calm down." He stated, but I narrowed my eyes, trying to see his angle. We both knew he hated me.

"You hate me," I said blatantly, voicing my thoughts.

"Do I?" He asked slyly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I spat. He gave a non-committable shrug but other than that ignored my outburst.

"So do you know what you want your angle to be?" Rowan got into business.

"Awesome," I nodded.

"You need a _real_ angle,"

"_Awesome_," I drew out the word. "It's an angle that I can work naturally."

"Now is not the time for games, Isaac," Rowan snapped.

"It's called the Hunger _Games_ for a reason, Rowan." I answered back, just as brashly.

We looked at each other at the same moment, argument forgotten, and both remembered a moment before I had become a political target; a time where I was just another Tribute, where I had said those same words to a different person.

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking at my shiny shoes. I scuffed them on the carpet, hoping to smudge the cream fluff, but they didn't leave a mark.

"Angle," he prompted me.

"I don't know. You're the expert. What was your angle?" I looked up from the carpet in time to see his eyes flash with hurt. I suppose no one asked about his Hunger Games much.

"My angle... was humble. But I don't think that's adequate, I didn't get many sponsors, no one expected me to win." He told me.

"Who did they expect to win?" I prodded him.

"Definitely not me," He growled. He stood and started pacing the room.

"What was your arena like? Was there plenty of food? Booby traps? How many weapons were there? How long did it last? Were there-" All the questions I had wanted to ask him tumbled off my lips in a flurried rush.

"_Isaac!_" Rowan bellowed as he turned to me. I saw tears in his eyes. I pressed my lips together and fell silent. Oops.

"It was a jungle, there was plenty of food if you could hunt; only idiots set off booby traps, we made our own weapons, it lasted two and a half weeks and the person they expected to win was the Tribute from Nine." The words rushed out of his mouth and then he held up his hands. He got points for the candour, though. "Now, I know I should have been teaching you things from the get-go, but you reminded me too much of one of my allies in my Games, so I have been avoiding and neglecting you. But I'm trying to help you now, so that's enough. Now I'm helping."

I gaped at him. "You think that's enough, you helping me now? You've hated me because I stirred up some _memories_? I've had to get scraps of information from other Tributes, and for all I know, they're lying to me so I could die easier! This is _not_ enough! You're a horrible mentor." I raged, gritting my teeth and hissing the words at him. He thought he could just avoid me because I reminded him of a _dead person_? But then, to my shock, Rowan hung his head.

"I'm trying now," He said.

"It's not enough," I whispered.

We sat in silence for a half hour; me curled up on the chair and Rowan staring out of the window. Then I realised that this may be the only chance I have to actually be mentored. I should probably use it.

"So I was thinking funny should be my angle." I said, not looking at the green haired man but talking to his empty chair.

"I think you could pull that off," I heard the smile in his voice. He finally sat in front of me and I tried not to notice the tiny fact that his eyes were not red and puffy before. "Now, let's get down to business."

"Isaac, honey!" I openly cringed at Cameria's use of the spread in juxtaposition to my name.

"Hey, Cameria," I answered, giving her a fake smile. She obviously took this as an invitation and hugged me, wrapping me in her neon yellow shawl and practically digging her claw-like golden fingernails into my back. I patted her back awkwardly and tried not to breathe in too much of her smell. It was like sickly sweet fake bananas.

She pulled me back from her so she could look me in the eye. I only realised then, that I was taller than her even with those mammoth heels of her feet. She was tiny. "You ready?" She asked, the curls of her yellow beehive spilling onto her shoulders and curling onto her pink-roughed cheeks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I stated, and Cameria seemed to take this as a joke and laughed uproariously.

"Oh Isaac, you're just too funny," She smiled simperingly at me and I gave her a confused half-smile back. I had no idea what I had done.

She gave me some clothes to put on and practically threw me into my room to change. I looked at the outfit and rolled my eyes- it was a lemon-yellow suit, complete with a cream silk shirt, bronze waistcoat and lemon yellow pants with matching overcoat complete with tails. I almost vomited.

I had to get an Avox to tie the yellow bowtie, as I had no idea how to do it, and, admittedly, if you were colour-blind, it was a pretty sweet outfit. Cameria threw in some shoes after me; the same bronze colour as the waistcoat but made of leather and surprisingly supple and comfortable, and I walked out, quite chuffed. I had checked myself out in the mirror for a bit, and, though I was still disturbed about how big my eyes looked without my glasses, I thought I looked pretty good in a suit. Even if the yellow did wash out my pale skin.

"Oh Isaac honey, yellow suits you like a kettle suits the stove!" Cameria gushed as she straightened my collar. I had no idea what a kettle even was, let alone how it suited a stove, but I guessed it was some wacky Capitol saying. I thanked her and then she led me to another spare room where we began.

Cameria fixed my posture, gait, speed, gaze, expression and stance in a few short hours. I told her I wanted my angle to be funny, and so we made me into that person. First she gave me proper posture: Shoulders back, chest out, spine straight. Then we modelled me into a funny-man. She taught me to walk with a slight swagger, my head levelled out, slightly up, chin raised only a little. I walked slower than I usually did, with more purpose. Well, apparently I looked like I had more purpose, I just felt like I was walking with my head higher than usual. When I was still I stood with my legs slightly apart, my posture rigid and my hands by my side, relaxed but ready.

_Ready for what_? I wondered.

For my expression, Cameria told me to harden my gaze and keep it hard. Don't melt. Don't melt for her, don't melt for Gabriella (as if!), don't melt for anyone. So I tightened my mouth and narrowed my eyes. I felt cruel, not funny though- so I tweaked the corner of my mouth up, just slightly, but that made the difference. Cameria shrieked and squealed her approval.

And then, after three hours hard work, I was fixed. Confident, sassy and ready to face them all. I had a crazy though then, that maybe the Interviews would be harder than the actual Games. I almost softened my gaze and laughed, but Cameria was still watching at me so I didn't. But I let out a breathy chuckle and went to change out of my ridiculous clothes. I was going to find a waistcoat though. I found I liked them.


	6. Rooftop Requiem

Ten minutes after I had finished my session with Cameria, I found myself in the elevator. Not making it move, just sitting in it. I liked the elevator. It was enclosed, so it was private, but it was made of glass so I didn't feel claustrophobic. I could see out of the clear glass, so it was almost like it wasn't there. I smiled and tucked my knees under my chin. This was the first time I had felt okay when I was alone since coming to the Capitol. I was alright.

Cameria and I had finished early. Strange really, what felt like hours of work was only over in two and a half out of three long hours. Guess I was lucky, because, as Cameria told me, apparently Gabriella had been horrible and they hadn't even finished their training when lunch time had come. So now, because I had about half an hour's free time, I sat in the elevator, not making a sound.

I had donned simple clothes. Since I had been unable to find a waistcoat that was not a horrendous colour, I didn't have one on. Instead I had a black shirt, green pants and soft-soled shoes. It was nice. My clothes weren't hurting my eyes with their vibrant colours, but nor were they fashionably uncomfortable. My hair was free to bounce around my ears and wasn't constrained under a hat. I felt like a sloth in pyjamas.

The lift shuddered to life, jolting me out of my reverie. I saw the number 'Twelve' button was flashing. I clamped down on my hopes that it would be Jonathan, knowing it was about 95 per cent more likely to be a Capitol attendant or Avox. I watched the stories of the building next to us flash by as I zoomed up to the penthouse apartment. I hardened my expression, ready to practice it one someone other than the person who had taught me my sass.

When I arrived I was still on the floor. I couldn't be bothered getting up knowing it wouldn't be anyone important; I stayed with my buttocks to the floor. I tapped a meaningless rhythm onto my thigh with one hand and pulled at a curl with the other. My hand then rose to push my glasses up my nose, but I realised I didn't wear them anymore. I didn't know how to feel about that.

The elevator doors opened and, much to my disbelief, Jonathan _did_ stand there. He looked about as surprised to see me as I did to see him, but as soon as I stumbled to a standing position a plate flew into the elevator and smashed onto the wall to the left of my face. Jonathan's expression quickly changed from surprised to devilish, and he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the Twelve apartment.

I was so gobsmacked I just let him pull me through the living room, but thankfully I kept my expression hard. No melting. I was sure a Tribute from a different District had never been inside another Tribute's apartment before, but when Jonathan yelled "Duck, Isaac!" and I was too surprised to react, the glass hitting my in the shoulder jerked me out of my astonishment.

Jonathan laughed as I squealed "Hey!" and dove around another flying piece of crockery. I then finally looked around for our assailant and saw that it was the male District Twelve mentor. He was swearing at Jonathan, his face red and he was grabbing whatever he could to throw at the other boy. Whatever Jonathan had done, it had made this man _very_ mad.

I ducked to avoid a flying ceramic bowl, and then followed Jonathan as he ran into a corridor. Though this apartment was bigger, the floor plan mirrored mine so I recognised that this was the corridor that led off to the sleeping and spare rooms. What was different was the flight of steps that was where a wall was at the end of my hallway. Jonathan gestured for me to follow him up the stairs, his slight frame racked with laughter, and I did follow, running past the doors. One door cracked open and I heard my name called. I turned in time to see Gracewyn, her long red hair tied up, in a ball gown that trailed on the floor behind her. But I was already halfway up the stairs and a fork flew dangerously close to my fleeing heels to stop, so I just raced on after Jonathan as he went through a door marked **Emergency Exit: Rooftop**.

As soon as I reached the light of the setting sun, Jonathan slammed the door shut behind me and shunted a broken chair behind the handle, efficiently locking it. We waited a few seconds and then threw ourselves against the chair as the banging started, helping block the door. It went away after about a minute, and was followed by the mentor screaming curses and swears at Jonathan and his 'puny Tribute friend', and then the sounds of someone heavy stomping down the narrow stairs. We simultaneously grinned in triumph and both held up our hands for different gestures as we stood and pushed off the locking chair. I guess the motions changed due to the variation in Districts as our hands asked for different things, so we both awkwardly put our hands down and pretended it never happened.

"How am I supposed to leave?" I asked, following Jonathan across the rooftop. He was still laughing, but it was more out of content rather than exhilaration. A bird chirped from the ledge surrounding the building, and its fellows chirped back. The air didn't smell nearly as fresh as it did back home, but it was better than indoors.

"I don't know. But I'm guessing that Steve is going to get totally drunk now to get over himself, so you'll be fine to go down when you do." Jonathan turned to me and said. His eyes were less blue now they were in the natural light; less coloured at all really- they were practically clear. He grinned at me again and I beamed back, only to remember that I had a persona and expression requirements to fill out, and returned to my sassy gaze. I know, or rather I hoped, I could trust Jonathan, but I didn't want to melt. Not here, and certainly not with a Tribute.

"Hooray," I replied, and I took a seat on the asphalt floor beside Jonathan, who had thrown himself down to watch the sunset. The sun setting here wasn't the same as back in Seven. The sky was less blue, if that was possible, maybe even slightly smoggy. The colours were still glorious though. Orange and pink at one end, royal blue scattered with the beginning of pinpoints of light at the other.

"So," My eyes slid sideways to meet the awaiting colourless eyes of Jonathan. "What did you do?" My smile grew teasing but my eyes stayed sharp. I could tell he had noticed the difference with me, the stiffness of my shoulders and the set of my mouth, but he didn't comment. Only stared.

"When?" He asked innocently, smiling serenely and guiltlessly at me. My eyes narrowed and I couldn't help it: my lips spread over my teeth in a grin that matched his.

"Spill." I ordered, trying not to laugh. "He was as mad as hell." And I hadn't really melted, I was still sharp. All I was doing was smiling.

Jonathan caved as soon as the words escaped from my mouth. "I wouldn't listen to him," He gushed, like he was eager to tell someone the story. "He was trying to tell me how to act and how to talk for my Interview, and I kept telling him that I already knew what I was going to do. I told him exactly what I was going to do, and he laughed at me. It made me mad. So I refused to listen to him and called him names. Found out he's a little sensitive. Can you believe it?" Jonathan's eyes were shining and he was laughing again. But I felt that the laughter was somewhat forced. Some part of Jonathan's pride had been shaken when the only previous Victor from District Twelve had utterly rejected his idea.

"What was your idea?" I asked, slightly hesitant. Knowing Jonathan, his idea could have been to fly a chicken down to the stage off one of the banisters. But, much to my surprise, Jonathan went red and kept his mouth shut.

I almost melted then. Almost. But I leant my head to the side and prodded him gently with one of my fingers. "C'mon," I prompted. He smiled into his hands. I laughed. "Come _on_. Tell me," I poked him again.

I jabbed him once more and he batted my finger away, but not before he said "Fine." I sat up expectantly. "I was going to... sing," The last part came out in a whisper, so I had to strain to hear it. But I did hear it. I gave Jonathan a once-over. He didn't really look like the singing type.

"Sing?" I said, disbelieving.

"Yeah," he mumbled from his hands. "Laugh away,"

I wanted to hear him. "Sing for me?" I said, half joking, half serious. He looked up from his hands, shyness forgotten.

"Okay. But I'll set the scene first." Jonathan held out his hands, drawing me up an invisible stage where I knew our Interviews would take place.

"Imagine, Gracie would have just finished, and Emlyn would now call my name; 'Jonathan Everdeen!'" he crowed in a poor imitation of Emlyn Fuut's high-pitched voice. "I walk over, and we banter for a little. And you know that question that she's forced to ask ever Tribute? The 'what are your talents?' one?" I nodded in response. It was the one question that appeared in every Interview. "Well, after she asks, I'll say 'singing,'. And then I'll demonstrate." He nodded finality.

I stayed in expectant silence, but he didn't elaborate. "Well?" I prompted. "What song will you sing?"

"Oh, right," He laughed in embarrassment "I don't really know yet. There are a few I could sing."

"Like?"

"Well, there's an old family song... I taught it to my all my brothers. Would you like to hear the first stanza?" When he saw my nodded consent he started. Softly, sweetly, but, as soon as the first notes left his mouth, the birds fell silent.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._"

He took my stunned silence and gaping open mouth as an invitation and, smiling at my surprise that he could have a voice that was so sweet and he continued, even though he said he would only sing the first stanza (whatever a stanza was).

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

I was entranced. It was unreal. His voice, though you could tell it was Jonathan that was singing, it was... unexpected. His voice was lilting, inviting, enthralling. He could get every note and the tune, though simple, entranced, it seemed, even the trees to fall silent.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

It took me a second to realise he had finished. I didn't know what to do, so I clapped and clapped, cheering and whooping. He blushed and I laughed and grinned warmly at him but didn't stop. That performance deserved a standing ovation.

And then I realised I'd melted. And that, after all of my work, I didn't care. The hard looks hadn't lasted long, especially with Jonathan.

"That was..." I couldn't finish, but he understood. "Any more songs?" I asked, eager for more. So eager, in fact, that I didn't notice the lamps flickering to life on the roof and the sun finally dipping below the horizon.

But Jonathan noticed. "It's dark." He said, pointing to the sky.

"Oh," I was disappointed. "Well, I guess I should go." Jonathan had hidden his red face in his arms, but I could tell he was still grinning from my raucous applause. "But you should definitely sing in the Interview. They'll love it." He nodded into his arms, and I didn't know why he wouldn't look at me. This was Jonathan, the guy I expected to fly a chicken down into the Interviews.

Maybe he was facing the imminent reality of his almost-certain death.

"See you," I said, standing and walking towards the door to the rooftop. He stood up to see me out and I saw the blush had finally faded from his cheeks. He made to open the door for me, ridiculously impersonating a Capitol doorman, but I put a hand on the frame and held it shut. "How about I scout first and see if there's anyone down there who's waiting to kill you?" I offered.

Jonathan scoffed at the idea that I could possibly be subtle enough the be a good lookout, but I just bumped him out of the way and opened the door a crack and peered into the brightly-lit hallway. I then, knowing he was watching me, pressed up against a wall and pretended to be subtle and sly as I tottered down the steps. I then jumped down the last three and landed in a fighting pose, but there was no one in the corridor.

"You're safe!" I called up the stairs, turning to watch Jonathan's descent. He just rolled his eyes and walked right past me.

"Are you coming?" he asked as he walked past me, but I saw that his lips were pressed tightly together as he tried not to smile.

"To the tree?" I asked jokingly. But I seemed to have overstepped the line as Jonathan shot me an all-too-real glare over his shoulder. I ducked my head and walked the rest of the way to the elevator in silence.

We walked past a sitting room where there was Jonathan's mentor- Steve, I think he was called- passed out with empty bottles scattered around him. "How did he drink that much so quickly? We weren't up there for long!" I asked, feeling a mixture of admiration and disgust. Jonathan also looked at him reverently, as if he had not tried to kill him before.

"Skill," He nodded. I could only agree. Skill and a strong stomach.

The elevator came as soon as I pushed the button. I smiled at Jonathan as I stepped in. I was worried that my joke had somehow hurt our friendship. But my fears vanished as he threw me a cocky smile and did the gentlemanly thing and pressed the button of my floor for me. I rolled my eyes though I was very glad we were back to normal.

"Why thank you, kind sir," I joked. But my demeanour dropped and I said "I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose." In a more serious voice. I saw the humour leave Jonathan's stance too and he bit his lip, worried. He clapped a hand to my shoulder then trailed it down to where it stopped over my heart. I stood stock-still as I felt my heart beat against his hand. A wave of unimaginable sadness washed over me. We both knew I may have numbered beats left.

"Bye, Isaac," He murmured and stepped backwards out of the elevator. I let a breath I hadn't realised I was holding out and one of my hands crept up and pulled on a lock of my hair.

"Bye," I responded and the elevator doors closed, separating us.


	7. The Negation of Masculinity Points pt 1

The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. Rowan was a little nicer to me, Gabriella flirted unabashedly with _everyone_ and Cameria looked at me with pride every time I sassily glanced around the room. Which wasn't often as I spent most of the time staring at the black noodles in blue sauce that I was attempting to eat.

I went to sleep lonely and anticipated. Tomorrow was the last day before the Games. I didn't feel ready, but what else could I do? I couldn't prepare in any way for this except sleep and eat: get my strength up. So that's what I did: I slept. Big rah rah.

When I woke up I wasn't exactly refreshed, but I wasn't tired so it's the best I could do. My Prep team were looming over me (minus Celestial Shimmer), squawking worse than an alarm clock. I let them lead me to a prep room and they went to work. I had no idea how this was going to last all day- the Interviews were at least ten hours away- but I just took whatever they threw at me, too downcast to care. I let my sassiness roll off me in cold waves so I was mostly ignored by way of conversation. My Kindness stopped me from yelling at them to shut up every time they reached a new octave, so they should count themselves lucky.

"So I heard a rumour about the Games!" Lizette screeched a few hours in. I had been showered, scrubbed down and waxed in all the appropriate places. I blinked at her, my eyes focussing for the first time in hours.

"Oh!" Shinette warbled. "Spill, _spill!_"

Their voices were so high pitched it felt like my skull was going to split open.

"I heard, I heard, I _heard,_" Shinette said very fast, "I heard that the arena was going to be basically an island surrounded by the ocean!" I wanted to point out that all islands were surrounded by the ocean before what she said actually hit me.

My heart sank as I digested her words. I'd never been taught to swim. If this rumour was true, I was going to be dead before the first day was out.

How embarrassing.

"_And,_" Shinette crowed, drawing out the 'a', "Elmore Pudge said-"

"Elmore Pudge! _That's_ who you heard this off?" Barette sneered. "You know he's a flat-rate addict who has no idea what he's saying!"

My heart stuttered in response, and, for the first time in many hours, I raised my head independently. So the rumour may not be true. Maybe I could banish the thoughts of stepping off the plate before the first sixty seconds were up to save myself from showing the world I couldn't swim.

They bantered for a while longer on the eligibility of Pudge while combing out my hair and rubbing lotion all over my body. My tan they gave me for the Parade had faded, so my skin was a pinkish-white, still darker than it was when I arrived, but it was being fixed as I watched the lotion darken my skin from pasty pale to sun-kissed brown. It made my freckles stand out more and the brown of my eyes look... warmer. Barette happily told me this tan would most likely last the length of the Games. Whoopee.

They filed my nails and painted them with clear lacquer and repeated with my feet (I think I lost most of my masculinity points as I watched them give me a mani/pedi without complaint). They found a tiny brush and started _combing my leg hair_, and I kept silent. A thousand phrases and snarks were going through my head but I just couldn't be bothered saying anything to these people. It would just go through one ear and out the other. There was no point.

They started work on my face next. The put a cream on my lips that they told me would make them fuller and pinker- I think my masculinity points were in the negative by then- and they put a foundation on, powdering across my cheeks, along my forehead, down my nose and chin and continuing down my neck. They outlined my eyes a little with a brown eyeliner and brushed out my eyelashes to make them long enough to cast shadows over my cheeks in the right light.

"Ike. Isaac. Dude," I heard. My eyes snapped open from where I was lying on the table in a state of meditation my Prep Team called 'Aw He's Sleeping, Better Not Disturb Him' and I called 'Acting Keeps Them Quiet'.

"Sorry," I said to Lizette who was commanding my attention. My lips stuck together a little because of the cream on them.

"Can we do your hair?" He asked. I sat up now, facing him, trying to ignore the vulnerability of my nakedness.

"What do you want to do with it?" I inquired softly.

"We were thinking about trimming it- a little," he added hastily, seeing my evil eye. "And putting some tips through it."

"Tips?" I asked, my lips smacking slightly due to the cream.

"Like, putting some brown streaks through it." He elaborated for me. I narrowed my eyes, but ended up shrugging and agreeing due to lethargy. I couldn't care anymore.

So they washed my hair through for the second time that day and then combed and trimmed it. I felt very pampered as I had three glittering people scamper about me. They gave great head massages, which was apparently to rub through the conditioning agent, but seeing as it was Barette who was giving it, I assumed it was because he liked me. When my glistening curls had dried they evenly placed foils through it and told me to relax for a little while the dye did its work and they proceeded to labour on other parts of my body.

When they finally finished- and by finished I meant _finally_ wiping the accursed cream off my lips and taking the foils out of my hair and stopping with the work on the rest of my body- I was surprised. This made the job they did on me on the Parade night look second-hand.

My hair looked cool, the brown looking even and somewhat natural, not too light but doing me justice more than felony. The foundation hid the bumps and marks on my face, but was light enough so my freckles could be seen through it. My eyes did not make me look less manly but more handsome and the gold flecks I never noticed in my brown iris' showing through. My lips were a bit too feminine for my taste though, full and plump and dark pink, but my Team just told me it looked like I'd just come from a make-out session. I don't know whether that was a compliment or not, this close to the Games. My body looked lithe and tan, the little amount of weight I'd been able to put on doing me good and now I wasn't all angles and bones. I had some substance. The only thing that was wrong that I could pick out was how dull and flat my eyes were: how little my face expressed emotions at all.

I twisted my mouth as an experiment. The movement looked jerky and unnatural, just an empty shell pulling at muscles making the shadow of a sneering expression. I shook my head to clear it, the lethargic empty feeling, but it didn't work. I needed an energy boost. Some sort of adrenaline rush, but I was just drained and... pathetic. I wasn't even fighting any more.

Eh.

I waited in a fluffy robe until Celestial Shimmer strode in, a suit bag draped over one arm and a chummy smile on her face. I rolled my eyes and swung my legs from where I was seated on the makeover table, and felt a tiny speck of feeling in my tummy. I sighed in relief and it grew. Not much, but it grew. I could still feel. Bonus.

Celestial whipped out a suit that wasn't completely horrendous. Actually, if I saw it at a shop in Seven (as if any shop in Seven would have something that fancy in it), I would think twice before setting it on fire. It came with black dress shoes, thin socks and a tie that evolved from the green base to the auburn part that knotted at my throat.

Celestial Shimmer gave me undergarments and the thin black dress socks to put on myself and that was the only and last manual work I did for myself that whole day, I think. She wiggled me into the pants, then, (because apparently I was incapable of putting on pants, however fancy, by myself) and whipped a belt through the loops, working quickly with the clasp. The pants were nothing special, just black with no fitting, ending just as they touched the tops of my feet. Celestial then proceeded to pull a black button-down silken shirt on my thin shoulders and rapidly putting the buttons through their comparative holes, though she did not button the highest one on my collar, letting me breathe a little. She tucked the shirt in then, making me feel very uncomfortable with the feel of her hands delving down my pants, but it was over soon enough. The shirt itself was snug and fitted well, the cuffs of the long sleeves ending exactly where my hands ended and the wrists began.

I smiled happily, joy surging softly though me, and made grabby hands when Celestial brought out a waistcoat. She tugged it on and murmured her first words to me since she arrived. "Cameria told me you liked them," She said, and I chuckled. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad. I had a waistcoat, after all. And I could _feel_ again.

My stylist then proceeded the knot the tie around my neck, but she didn't tie it to precise perfection. She let the knot be twisted a little, not as tight as regulation formal ties, and loose enough you could still see the undone button on my collar and the look was overall... casual. For a formal suit. And she left the end untucked where it would usually be slipped into the waistcoat. I liked that.

Celestial shucked on my blazer next, tugging the collar hard around my neck and straightening the lapels. She smoothed the shoulders and arms, tugging the sleeves of my shirt down where they had ridden up. She jerked the bottom of the suit jacket down, and I swore if she yanked one more time on _anything_ I was going to pull on her hair and see how she liked it. I felt like I was being hauled in every direction. She finished by fastening up the blazers two buttons and smoothing her hands down my chest, pulling lightly (not hard enough for me to follow up on my threat) on the hem, for once smiling at her accomplishment.

And I had to admit, it was, indeed, an accomplishment. This look was so far off from being dressed as a tree it was like that had never happened. My suit fitted perfectly- I had to wonder if they'd gotten my measurements while I was sleeping because I don't remember giving them out- and it was... gorgeous.

And there go the last of my masculinity points.

The base colour was charcoal black. The only things that weren't black were the tie and an embroided stem of leaves from each sleeve up to the hem line on my shoulder. The embroidery was beautiful- the colours were the same of that of my tie, the green on the leaves and the auburn being the thin line representing a branch that connected the leaves. It was intricate but not unrealistic. It was subtle enough to not make the suit look ridiculously spiffed but enough to avoid the dreary look of a plain suit.

I lifted my hands to straighten my tie but Celestial Shimmer seized my wrists in a vice-like grip. "Nuh-Uh," She chided. "Rowan told me you were going for 'humorous' and this look is _fabulous_." Her voice was too pitchy and I winced. I suppose I should have thanked her, but her fingers were digging into my wrists under my shirt cuffs and her fingernails left little crescent-shaped marks when she finally let go. I coughed and squirmed instead.

Cameria was waiting for me in the hall. When I saw her I spread my arms and tweaked my mouth a little. "How do I look?" I smirked. Hell, I knew I looked _awesome_. Maybe that _should_ have been my angle.

Cameria squealed and reminded me of my bobble-headed Capitol Fangirl from Parade Night. She pounced on me, being careful not to mess any pieces of clothing up but eyeing me hungrily. I swallowed nervously and shifted away from her. We started walking towards the sitting room closest to the elevator, and I was starting to _feel_ again.

"Oh, Ike, you look absolutely _scrumptious_!" Cameria eyed me off again, her eyes darting from the tips of my shoes back to my eyes. I avoided an awkward conversation about how edible I appeared when Gabriella joined us in the sitting room, stomping in gracelessly with heeled shoes but looking proud of herself and her outfit.

Gabriella and I matched, like on Parade Night, but obviously she wasn't in a damn sexy suit. We were... compatible. She was wearing an appealing dress that was the same colour as my tie. It was strapless and fell to mid-thigh and had a black ribbon tied tightly below her bust so it bowed the dress in and showed her lack of fat. It was also ridged with pleats giving it a pleasant effect, though it wasn't overwhelming as they didn't take the main focus of the dress. She wore some high-heeled ankle boots on her feet and her fingernails were painted with the same fading colours, green to auburn, and I had no idea how they painted them like that. Her skin wasn't as tanned as mine, though it looked a little browner than before. Her eyes were lined thickly and her eyelashes were clumped what I supposed was stylishly with makeup (which I didn't think was a good look). Her hair was out and straightened, but the front was braided off her face.

I frowned a little when I realised my lips were pinker and fuller than hers.

I nodded hello to her, and I felt the blush rise in my cheeks as I saw her eyes appraising me from my shoes to my hair like Cameria had done. I tried to take it in my stride, but as her eyes found mine I realised that if Gabriella was doing this then what hope was there for those shameless Capitol women who you saw on the television every year saying disgusting things about the Tributes' bodies. I shuddered, then appreciated the thought that at least it would raise my sponsors and, for once, I looked good, knew it, and other people thought so too.

So I took a breath in and straightened my shoulders, returning to my funny, cocky self.

"Like what you see?" I rumbled to Gabriella. For once she didn't duck and blush at my comment.

"Don't flatter yourself. You just look less ugly than normal," She answered, huffing out a breath and flipping her long hair back. I knew that I must look smoking if she had complimented me like that. I grinned widely at her and, though she looked taken-aback, she must had realised she complimented me because the blush finally surfaced on her face. I smirked and walked the rest of the way to the elevator.

I saw a majority of the other Tributes were already in the Training Centre when I arrived. I looked around for someone I liked and spotted the Twins from Eleven. I started to wander towards them when Cameria stopped me and told me to stay with the Seven crew as we moved to the wall nearest to the elevator. I grumbled and took to waving at Rhododendron and Honeysuckle over the heads of other Tributes. They saw me and gave simultaneous waves back in my direction, looking eerily alike in all but costume.

I must have been depriving my Kindness lately as it seemed to want to take desperate measures. It nudged me to sidle up to Gabriella and when I was by her elbow I decided this may be the last full conversation I have with her. That perked me up.

"How're you feeling?" I asked her as sombrely as I could with a straight face. She jerked around and looked at me through narrowed eyes, appraising me as if I had an alternate angle. I couldn't help myself and I felt the corner of my mouth pull up in a smile, even though she had me with my back against the wall.

"Fine," Gabriella tossed her head and growled at me. I kept smiling at her.

"Okay," I answered, realising that she didn't want this conversation to go anywhere. I was cool with that.

"Is this some strategy, Isaac?" She snapped at me, getting in my face all of a sudden. "Being all nice to me, hoping to find out my tactics, hoping that, if we're friends now, it'll stop me from breaking your stupid neck tomorrow?" She was positively snarling at me towards the end. I whistled. Colour me pink with embarrassment. Here I was, thinking she'd changed.

"Just making conversation, princess. Don't ruffle your skirts." I rolled my eyes. She didn't seem to have evolved any social etiquette during her stay here as she was still uncomfortably in my space and I had to lean backwards to keep her body off mine. I shifted on my feet, awkward, but was saved, thankfully, by Gracewyn and Jonathan popping out of the elevator.

"Hi," Jonathan chirped, eyeing the distance, or lack of, between me and Gabriella.

"Howdy," I reciprocated, observing his fully black suit. It even had a breast pocket with a pitch dark handkerchief in it with a corner folded politely over the top. "Attending a funeral?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Jonathan was about to answer with what promised to be a sneaky comment by the look on his face before Gabriella cut in front of him and said, "Yours, hopefully,"

I rolled my eyes again. "That's illogical, Gab," I retorted. She thankfully moved away from my then so I didn't have to lean away from her to avoid some awkward face-smushing, but she still stood so close that I had to angle my body so we didn't touch. Damn the wall and my inability to step away. I turned my eyes to Gracewyn.

"Wow," I whistled. She glared at me, and I just grinned back, keeping up the cocky front. But I could tell she saw through it so, for once, she laughed and smiled at me without, you know, looking like she wanted to kill me.

She was in a simple black slip of a dress with strappy shoulders. It was tight enough to draw attention to her curves but loose enough to leave some of it up to the people's imaginations. It also had ribbons of different shades of grey threaded around it, drawing the bodice in and lining where it ended around mid-thigh. It was very pretty and quite flattering. On her feet were strappy heels that weren't too high but accentuated the delicate arches of her feet. Her nails (on hands and feet) were painted the same colour as her hair, which was pulled in a ponytail that was waved and curled.

"You're not too bad yourself," She smiled at me. This made me so happy, because, for once, Gracewyn was talking, smiling and laughing with no effort to glare or snarl at anyone who was even looking at Jonathan. Must be a big effort on her part, maybe she was finally letting him go.

And then Jonathan looped his arm around my shoulders and lent on the wall with me and I saw Gracewyn's face fall and close off. I stared pitying at her but made no move to remove Jonathan's arm. He didn't seem to notice though, and just waved at Marhkuhs (with two h's and a k) across the room. I smiled at gestured too, seeing his lanky figure over the top of the other Tributes, keeping my focus off Gracewyn.

It was selfish, I know. I wanted all the friends I could gather because I was desperate and craving warmth before the end. I wanted these things even at the expanse of Gracewyn losing what I gained. And yes, it hurt me that it was wounding her, but my selfishness was holding me back from giving her friendship too. So I moved away from her, Jonathan trailing me because of the arm around me, and we squeezed past Gabriella and, against Cameria's indignant cries, met up with Jonathan and the Twins around the middle of the floor.

We chatted idly for a little while until, I presumed, all the Tributes were assembled and we were ordered around into single file with the female from District One at the stage entrance. We were in ascending Districts with the boys in line after the girls. We were all shifting awkwardly and for once I didn't feel the need to talk, feeling my nerves peak because I couldn't hide from them anymore.

A brawny Peacekeeper walked to the head of the procession and cleared his throat. He was decked out in full uniform except for his helmet, so they must finally trust us enough to believe we wouldn't brain him with the closest inanimate object. What noise there was died as we all turned attention to the thickset man at the head of the line. He thrust out his chest and put his hands behind his back, standing as erect as possible. Someone had the nerve to giggle as he rocked back on his heels in a scarce moment of imbalance. Idiot. I hoped it wasn't one of my idiots.

"Tributes!" The Peacekeeper barked, like he didn't already have out undivided attention. "Your Interviews are about to commence. In regard to the audience out there, there will be rules in place. Any rules broken and you will be... punished." My mouth went dry. "Firstly, you need to know that this is an audience of all ages. Keep it family friendly. No swearing or blatant sexual terms, or anything else... unsavoury." His eyes glinted dangerously as he appraised us. "Secondly, if you try _anything_," I could see his eyes because he was without his visor and they were widened to their full potential. Gold star, Mr. Muscle. "We will know about it. Thirdly," His shoulders and eyes relaxed. "Go along with Emlyn. She's your host so be grateful. End speech." He turned to go, and I ducked my chin into my chest as I turned a snort of laughter into a quiet snuffle at the fact he ended his lecture with _end speech_. Ah, Capitol People.

He turned back to us Tributes sharply and I raised my head back in a nanosecond, hurting my neck in doing so. He had his hand pressed to his ear and I saw a little earpiece. He must be receiving a message. "One more thing," Not a message, it seemed, but a reminder. "Have fun, kiddos." He rolled his eyes but someone must have ordered him to say that because Big n' Beefy there didn't seem to give out encouragements all that often. Only the fact that I was fighting for my life stopped me from beaming back at him and chirping a gleeful '_Aye, aye, Captain!'_ As it was, I gave him a faint smile which was not returned in the slightest. Maybe he missed it.

And then, before I knew it, we were being ushered onto the stage. I blinked in the sudden light and tried not to trip over my feet as I walked the last few legs to my chair. I did my best, though. Every step I walked how Cameria taught me. My head was up, tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, a smirk dancing on my lips. When I reached the miniature throne that I was the claim for the night, I lowered myself slowly and sat with my legs slightly apart but back straight and eyes attentive. I had to be arrogant but dutiful. This was the fight for my survival, after all.


	8. The Negation of Masculinity Points pt 2

The applause was tremendous. Even after we had been seated, the crowd roared and waved and screamed our names. There were at least a three TV screens on every surface, some permanently dedicated to one Tribute, other showing live feeds, some just trained on the audience. My mouth was dry and I was struggling to swallow as I saw a lot of the citizens- particularly young adults- were directing their attention at me, hoping for the same response as the blue bobble-headed girl had gotten on Parade Night. I glanced sideways quickly to see my fellow competitors smiling and waving back, so I followed suit. I raised a hand and twirled it casually, brining to my lips my most brazen, mocking smile that I knew (because I could see it on one of the fifty-bazillion screens placed around the place) made me look as drawling and humorous as Rowan, Cameria and I had planned. My groupies screamed in assent to my attention, but I didn't focus my awareness on any particular individual this time. I associated with them as a group and I all but cried in relief when Emlyn made her dramatic entrance onto the stage and sat at her artificially enlarged behind in the ornate Interviewer's chair.

Emlyn's way-too-blond hair was entwined with strands of red precious gems and was streaked with alternating thin strands of pastel-pink and black. Her fingernails and toenails were also painted in the two alternating colours and her fingernails were almost-claws at the length they were. Her bare legs were in impossibly high heeled, open toed shoes that I could not see how she could walk in. She was wearing a plain black leotard that hugged her skin way too tightly and was much too low cut. It didn't cover her legs at all and the visible skin on her body was a deep, fake tan that was so red it made her skin look russet-coloured and unnatural. Her face was caked with makeup and she had too much blush on her cheeks and her lips were the same pink colour but had the same red gemstones embedded into them as she had in her hair and the colours didn't match and I felt my masculinity points (which I still had not regained) fall further away from me as I made this observation. Her black eye shadow expanded past the curve of her brow and just looked plain messy, like her stylist's hand had slipped and they hadn't bothered to fix it. Her rabbit ears were white and fluffy and poked erect out of the confines of her hair, with her rabbits tail somehow outside her leotard and quivering slightly. Overall, Emlyn Fuut looked old and outdated, like a sad old lady trying to gain back her glory days and trying way too hard to please everyone.

Emlyn greeted the crowd and got the ball rolling almost immediately. She brought up the brute of a girl from One and started the Interviews. I half lidded my eyes and slouched ever-so-slightly in my seat. I tried to pay attention, I did, but I was too nervous and jumpy. The only reason I caught the first part of the Interview was because of District One girl's ridiculous name. I mean, there have been stupid names before, but this one takes, devours and destroys the cake.

"Give a huge hand for Katti Meow-Meow of District One, everybody!" Emlyn called to the crowd, cupping her hand around her mouth like the crowd couldn't hear her through the hidden microphone. The crowd, oblivious to the outlandishness of the name, screamed and went wild. I choked a little when I heard her name and glanced left and met Marhkuhs's gleeful eyes as he held back his own laughter. I grinned and he beamed back and we both stifled our amusement, the District Eight girl between us looking startled by my maniacal expression as I looked her way.

"So, Katti, are you enjoying the Capital so far?" Emlyn's smile was scarily broad, stretching across her wide face, her teeth abnormally large and white and clashing horribly with her so-bronze-its-almost-red skin.

"Well," The girl, Katti Meow-Meow or whatever, set her wide shoulders back and almost glared at Emlyn. It was sort of amusing as it gave her the look of being about to sneeze. "It is the greatest place in the world, so yes, I am," She grunted as she ruffled her skirts. I rolled my eyes. _Sap,_ I thought.

I zoned out after that until Patti You-Who or Kitty Litter-Tray or whatever-her-name-was's Interview was over. I started paying attention again as she ambled back to her chair and apparently "Mocha Smarzokova" was on his way up. _District One, _I huffed.

The Interviews seems to crawl by. I had to physically restrain myself from tapping a rhythm onto my knee by clasping my hands behind my back. I was running thousands of different phrases and ways my Interview could go and everything I could say. I was considering all the possibilities. What would happen if I stayed silent through the whole thing. What would happen if I turned everything into a sexual innuendo. What would happen if I tried to punch Emlyn Fuut. If I tried to play with her ears. If I was entirely charismatic and delivered an awesome performance. If I redeemed myself to the President and Rowan and Gabriella and the Gamemakers. If I didn't and I was condemned to die as soon as I stepped foot in that arena tomorrow.

I never knew three minutes were this long. Thank god I wasn't Jonathan. If I was going to go last, I would have torn out my hair in anticipation. I counted the seconds down in my head. One-hundred and eighty seconds was a long,_ long_ time. I whispered the numbers under my breath, thinking I was lucky to know how to count up to two-hundred. I knew some of the kids in the Care Home who couldn't even count their fingers. Well, they could now. I had taught them.

The boy from Four made a reference to the rest of us Tributes back here, gesturing and throwing a dazzling grin to the line of sullen competitors seated behind him. Most of us glared back, and I concentrated on the conversation, wishing as soon as I did that I hadn't.

District Four boy rubbed his right fist vigorously into his left hand and said quite cheerfully, "And then I'll bash their heads in and squish all their brains out so it fertilises the earth and makes plants grow from their _brain juices_-" Eugh, this guy was insane. I winced and turned my attention back to the crowd, doing my best to keep my hands from circling my ear and mouthing the word _crazy_ at the cameras. I tried to block out the Interview but phrases like "I'll bathe in their blood,", "I've been dreaming about dismembering them since I arrived at the Capitol," and "Well, my cat back home's name is Tiddles," kept floating through my ears and into my brain. I schooled my features back to coldly indifferent and went to staring at District Four guy as he chatted with Emlyn in case he turned back to us. When the buzzer went he hadn't looked back and he made his way to his seat so I turned my head to keep staring unblinkingly at him. I don't know why.

He saw me looking and made a line-movement across his throat with the pointer finger of one hand, and I presumed he was threatening me. I blinked, thus breaking the staring, grinned and mouthed '_bring it_' back at him. It's not like he could get me right here and now. He seemed shocked that I had the nerve to fight back so he twisted his features into a snarl at me as he sat in his throne. I was tempted to continue to torment him but I remembered that cameras were probably trained on us so I winked at him and turned back to pretend to listen to the Interview now going ahead.

I noticed the subtle thumbs-up that Jonathan flashed me and grinned on the inside.

Time crawled by until finally Gabriella was being called up. She stood and glanced around wildly as Emlyn called her name. When her eyes landed on me I saw the raw fear coiling in them. I noticed her trembling body and if she didn't stop now she was going to fall flat on her face. I made _go_ motions with my hands, jerking my head to Emlyn, but Gabriella just trembled harder and she was shaking like a leaf, looking like a deer caught in headlights. I saw her chest rise and fall rapidly as she huffed her breath in and out unnaturally fast and I realised that she wasn't going to move unless someone made her. So my kindness sort of shoved me and I stood up and walked smoothly to Gabriella. I heard District Eight girl's sharp intake of air, but I just tried to act like I knew what was going on. I approached her left side and slickly offered Gabriella my left arm and leant in to whisper in her hear.

"Hurry up, Gab, or you're gonna miss your Interview." I growled and subtly jerked my right elbow into her ribs to shock her out of her immobilising fear. She clutched my offered arm frantically and I circled my other (with the attacking elbow) around her waist as I walked us both over to where Emlyn was waiting, looking gleefully surprised.

Gabriella started slowing down. "I can't Isaac, oh my god, I don't think-" She was whispering to me. She almost was pushing me away but I was awesome enough to keep us looking like a gentleman escorting a lady to her nice chit-chat with a rabbit woman.

"Listen, _dumbass_," I snarled into her ear. This wasn't my responsibility, and I was only doing this so some _prostitute_ could maybe do okay in an Interview which would mean increasing her chances of staying alive. Not to mention that she has been threatening to kill me since the day we met. "Sit down in the nice chair and talk to the old lady about how happy you are to be here." I shoved the small of her back and guided her by the shoulder so I could squash her as gracefully as I could into the chair. I grinned charmingly at Emlyn then and hurried back to my seat, subtly wiping my sweating hands on my dress pants and hoping everyone thought that was planned. I glanced to my left to see Gracewyn with her hands cupped over her mouth to restrain her laughter, Jonathan with his cheeks puffed out and looking into his lap and the Twins looking endearingly at me and I knew that maybe I hadn't convinced everyone.

"So, Gabriella," Emlyn Fuut started, her smile almost a leer as she leans in uncomfortably close to Gabriella. "That was quite an entrance." Even I was creeped out, so Gabriella must have been dying right about now.

"Oh, well," Gabriella flushed bright red and ducked her head. "That was just Ike- Isaac, I mean." She blurted out, garbled and fast, and I wanted to smack my hand into my face. As it was, it took all of me not to roll my eyes skyward.

"Ike?" Emlyn picked up on the nickname, her rabbit ears literally pricking up. I didn't like where this was going. "You have a nickname for him? Oh that's precious, sugar." Her voice came out pitying and sickly sweet, intent dripping over her tones.

What _was_ it with these people and referring to others by the names of condiments?

"I- what?" Gabriella looked confused.

"Well, nicknames are a sign of affection, honey-bun," Emlyn sounded like she was telling a toddler that the sky's colour was blue. She licked her gem-studded, pastel pink lips "And, well, participants in the Hunger Games have been known to be _overly-affectionate_ with other competitors if they're old enough-"

And then it hit me what she had said, well, what she meant by what she said, and I went bright red and wanted to vomit all over my shiny black shoes. Ew, ew, ew ew ew ew ew. I locked my vision on Gabriella to see her reaction. I was expecting her to rise up and smite the she-devil-rabbit for even implying that our relationship was overly-friendly when it was barely over hostile. I was glad to say I didn't go unsatisfied.

"Hold up," Gabriella literally rose a hand and placed it with her palm facing Emlyn, stopping the Interviewer from saying anything else. Gabriella couldn't seem to meet her gaze. She was grimacing with her head held down, like she couldn't quite comprehend that Emlyn had the _nerve_ to say what she had. I saw Rowan in the crowd, his head thrown back and laughing hard, and my own mouth twisted as I noted the ridiculousness of the intention.

"You think," I turned my attention back to Gabriella to hear her voice trembling with rage. "You think that I would _fool around,_" She made air quotations around the words _fool around-_ Way to keep it PG Gab- "with some _vermin_ like Isaac Alldrenn?" She was finally looking at Emlyn, who had a stunned look on her face. At the same time both women in the middle of the Interview turned to me, Emlyn checking to see my reaction to being called _vermin_- I have to say, not very creative, Gabbie, you could've done better- and Gabriella to just simply glare at me. Her gaze did seem to soften a bit when it fell on me, though. Maybe she was just amping up the hate for the Interviews. I flashed them both a grin and a thumbs-up to show how unoffended I was and that they should continue and they both turned back to face the front. I sighed in relief and sunk a few inches down my chair as the attention of the Interview turned away from me and onto District Seven as a whole.

"I hate them," Gabriella stated in deadpan when Emlyn asked how she felt about the District. I saw Emlyn's heavily-pencilled eyebrows shoot up. "They didn't understand me and they hated me too."

"But, sweetheart, they brought you _here_!" She swept her arms out in a gesture meant to represent the Capitol. "Shouldn't you be _grateful_?" She peered at Gabriella.

Gabriella's face turned sour. I knew nothing good would come out of it. I saw, out of the corner of my eye from one of the screens that was permanently fixed on my face, my eyes crinkle into the smallest wince in history. My nose had wrinkled a tiny bit as well as my eyes and it was all in preparation for her answer. If she declared her detestation of District Seven on screen now I had walked her to her seat for nothing. I had stopped hating her for nothing. I saw Rowan in the crowd, all signs of his laughter from before wiped off his face, looking deadly serious.

It was like someone flicked a switch next. One moment Gabriella's face was bitter and dark and the next there was a warm smile in place, her eyes sparkled (with malevolence or warmth, I couldn't tell) and she looked genuinely... gleeful.

"Aha!" Gabriella crowed, but playfully, her tone light and bubbly. I barely kept the shock off my face. A happy Gabriella- let alone a _bubbly_ Gabriella – was one I'd never met. "I tricked you!" She continued in a high, tinny voice, filled with laughter and warmth. I found myself sharing a wide-eyed look with Rowan. So this must have been unscripted.

"I was just kidding," Gabriella leant towards a flustered Emlyn, smiling earnestly with her not-as-full-as-mine lips and chuckling. "I love District Seven! Who wouldn't?" She then directed her question to the crowd, who roared back in agreement.

This was all too much. I blanked out for a minute. I know I should have been paying attention, but seeing Gabriella just change, as fast as a whip crack, and her being all... all... _nice_ and stuff, it just blended my brain like nothing else had. So I zoned out of the program for a minute- only a minute, I swear- and when I came back down they were now talking about the Games, which I really didn't want to listen to so I didn't concentrate on the conversation.

I figured I had about thirty seconds to get myself ready and pumped. I ran a hand quickly down my body, readying my clothes, while simultaneously reaching up to adjust my glasses. Which, of course, I didn't wear any more. So my hand kept rising to pull on a curl of night-coloured hair and then returned to the arm of the throne. I controlled my breathing and tried not to bite at my beautiful lips- who am I kidding, they gave me a woman's lips, they're freaking gorgeous- and ran phrases and best-case/worst-case scenarios through my head.

And then the buzzer went. Aw, crap. Time to shine, buttercup.


	9. The Negation of Masculinity Points pt 3

**A/N: Okay, Hi everyone! Just wanted to say hello and thank you all for viewing this far :) Also, I wanted to add that I know the song Johnathan sings is very cliche for fanfictions; I myself have seen it many a time browsing through stories. But I decided it, through many a-talk with my sister and Betas, because I like it, I think it's popular enough to survive into post-apocalyptic America, and it sounds like a song an Everdeen would sing.**

**So I hope you all enjoy, and thank you again for viewing. I love you all!**

I rose fluidly, keeping as calm as I could and grinning nonchalantly at the crowd as they grew excited at the prospect of fresh meat. Gabriella and I met half way and she stopped the same moment I did. Emlyn made an annoyed clicking sound with her tongue and gestured for me to keep moving, but I ducked my head quickly as Gabriella leant up to whisper in my ear.

"Nailed it," She whispered. I rolled my eyes._ Only because of me, _I thought.

"You're welcome," I hissed back. She gripped my arm for a second and then was moving again, as was I. I moved with pretended purpose, fighting the urge to pull at my hair and when Emlyn rose up to meet me and enveloped me in a hug (she only hugged the boys, never the girls) I wished she hadn't. She squeezed against me and as I patted her back as friendly as I could, her hands going too low for my liking and it seemed that this was all the action she could get as she squished her chest against me and I escaped as gentlemanly as I could from her wandering hands.

"Isaac!" Emlyn leant away from me, keeping a firm grip around my biceps, and her smile went wide, scarily stretching her face. I smiled somewhat meekly in return.

"Hi there," my smile widened when I realised it sort of had to for me to be humorous. She squealed randomly then and shook her head from side to side in an apparent star-struck wave of emotion. A gem-studded strip of hair smacked me across the nose and I scrunched up my face in defence seeing as my arms were still clamped to my sides and I couldn't bring them up to guard my face.

"Oh, sorry sweetheart!" Emlyn cackled, obviously feeling the impact. And then she noticed my creased face and she let out what could only be a shriek. "Oh my golly goodness, Isaac, honey, you're simply _adorable_!"

A chorus of screams went up from the crowd in agreement, and I had no idea what they were talking about. I un-crumpled my face and looked at her blankly, trying to decide the right answer. "Thank you?" I lifted my shoulders a little and ducked my head, awash with a foreign shyness, overwhelmed by everything and acting instinctually. I never planned for this to happen in my interview, and I didn't know how to react. All of a sudden she grabbed my chin and planted the most uncomfortable kiss ever into my cheek.

"Oh _honey_," She looked into my eyes that were widened in shock and fear when she had finally leant back from where her lips had been glued to my cheek, "You're just _precious_!" She sat me down next and I was too dumbfounded to think of doing anything but going where her arms guided me.

"So," Emlyn's ears twitched as she crossed her glossy legs and planted an elbow on her knee with her hand cupping her chin. "Darling, how are you enjoying the Capitol?" She turned a head a twitch to the left then, and looked over my shoulder. She must have been looking directly into the camera that was behind me there. "I know I simply adore Carla Redfeathers' Fantastique Arm Chairs. All Tributes have one, so there simply necessary for _everybody_!" I was gobsmacked. _Um, what?_ I thought, but decided not to comment.

"Everything here is simply so awesome," I tilted my chin up, closing my eyes slightly and smiling. I decided to lead on from armchairs. "I don't really have much time for sitting though. I'm kind of mostly training for this little thing that's on tomorrow, you might know it? It's called the Hunger Games, it'll be on TV. You should check it out," My grin stretched wider lazily. "I've heard it's pretty popular,"

The crowd laughed. They _actually_ laughed with me. I chuckled as well and hope swelled in my chest, like a bubble that wouldn't be popped. I winked at the audience and got a few cheers in return.

"I'll make sure to check it out," Emlyn responded, her voice dry all of a sudden.

"It goes on for a couple of days, so you might be able to catch a few minutes." I continued, and I even huffed a laugh myself. The crowd gave a collective chuckle, but Emlyn shifted in her seat, hitching her leg higher.

"Speaking of, sweetie," Emlyn said, "Have you got any talents that will be able to help you out in these Games?" The crowd fell silent, eager. I grinned widely back at them.

"Oh yeah, Emlyn," I closed my eyes for a second, as if trying to remember all the talents I had. I came up with zilch. "I have _loads_, I don't even know which ones to tell you about." I smirked, wetting my dry lips with my tongue. Emlyn herself squirmed.

"Care to tell us about one? Any one at all," She prodded my broad answer's unstable walls, making them shake down to the foundations.

"Well, I can... climb." I gathered. "And most of those yahoos," I gestured behind me at the twenty-three other Tributes, "Are too heavy for a lot of branches to hold them, so if they can't catch me, I can't die." I didn't need to turn to see all the glares I was getting; I could see it all on about ten different screens. I even saw the girl from Four lean over to her District partner and I distinctly read her lips saying '_is he calling me _fat_?_'.

"What if there are no trees, babydoll?" It was Emlyn's turn to smirk, but I just scoffed.

"There are always trees," I smiled, full to the brim with confidence. "And I can climb walls too, also poles, ropes, really steep steps, anything perceived as difficult." I beamed at the crowd. The hooted again, seeming to find my comments about the steps amusing. And I could see why; some of these people were pooling over the edge of their seats. My guess would be that they'd never had to climb steps in their lives. My nose wrinkled again, and I squinted my eyes slightly. On the screen it looked like I was about to sneeze, my features mirroring District One girl's a little.

"Ah!" Emlyn cried suddenly, pointing to my face, claw-like nail almost catching my nose. "You're doing it again!" I immediately went cross-eyed trying to look at my nose.

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "What am I doing?" My tongue darted out and licked my lips another time. They were going to chafe.

"Being adorable!" She cried, and I was enveloped in an unexpected hug, and it was my greatest effort not to gag on her perfume. "You're like a little rabbit! Wabbity-wabbity!" She leant back only a little this time, repeatedly saying 'wabbity' to me (what the hell does that even _mean_?) and kept her arms looped around my shoulders. She poked my nose with her finger. "You're as cute as a button, Ikey!"

I could see no appeal of cuteness in a button at all, but I suppose it was a compliment. So apparently I pulled cute faces when thinking in disgust of the Capitol people. Who knew? And she didn't compliment Katti Meow-Meow from District One when _she_ looked like she was about to sneeze. I felt my shoulders rise again and I instinctually reached up and pulled on one of my curls. "Thanks," I grinned, this time from where I had ducked my head. May as well milk this for all its worth. I was rewarded with her leaning back but also another screech of delight. The crowd screamed, too, and I spared them a glance to see all my groupies at the front almost falling over each other in delight, their eyes shut tight as they would go and mouths open in squeals lost to the tumultuous noise.

"So," Emlyn settled again, "We know Gabriella's side of the story," Gabriella's face flashed onto about fifteen screens. "We know you two are just _friends,_" She air-quoted with her fingers and I got the feeling she didn't believe it. "But what about _you_, Isaac, you don't have, uh, _unrequited_ feelings, do you, hun?" I laughed good-naturedly.

"No, no, we're just... buds," I forced the word out. Like hell we were.

"Buds?" Her rabbit-ears perked. "She called you vermin!"

"Oh, that, yeah, we have a couple of nicknames for each other. Vermin and Ike are some of the ones she has for me." I hastily covered. I didn't know why I hadn't just made this easier and said I hated her.

"What do you have for her?" Emlyn prodded. I held back a sigh.

"Well," _think, think, think,_ I chanted, "Gab, Gabbie, cavewoman, bitch-" to word just fell out of my mouth without me thinking about it. _Crap,_ I thought, _family-friendly_. "-erson." I squinted my eyes, not being subtle at all about my cover up. "Bitcherson." I coughed. I heard a sharp bark of laughter from behind me and I twisted in my seat to see Jonathan with his hand clamped tightly around his mouth, body shaking and face turning slowly red as he held in his laughter and tried not to let any more of it escape. Gracewyn was biting her lip so hard it was pale and her eyes were shining, ears turning red at the tips. Marhkuhs's hands were fists on the arms of his throne and he had a totally blank poker-face on, while even the Twins were pressing their lips together. I gave them a quick grin and turned back to Emlyn.

"Bitcherson?" She asked, but I could tell I had fooled her. She thought it was a legitimate nickname. Score one for Curly-Head.

"One of my friends back in Seven, well, his last name was Bitcherson," I quickly made up a faceless boy in my head. "She looks a little like him- Gab being more feminine, of course- and I just call her that sometimes." I garbled out quick, and I felt sweat run down my neck. _Down boy, calm down_, I thought, _you're fine. You'll be fine. I'm not scared,_ I took a deep breath in. She seemed to buy it, as did the audience.

"So," Emlyn settled back in her chair now, and I wondered how long three minutes could be. They didn't seem this long when I was waiting. "What were you looking at that was so important on Parade Night?" I froze in my seat. This was it. This was the moment of truth. I took a deep breath in.

"Well," I didn't know how to answer that with humour without seeming impolite or too cocky for my own good. I was stuck. _Crap, crap, crap_. Why hadn't I prepared for this? Why? I had been so focussed on the questions she had been asking other Tributes I hadn't realised that, _of _course, she was going to ask me this. Why the hell hadn't I prepared? _Idiot!_

And then a thought struck me. Maybe, since I seemed to have two personas this Interview, since I struggled to find the answer through humour, maybe, just maybe, I could find it through... cuteness.

Ah, hell, I was never getting my masculinity points back anyway.

"Well," I said again, lowering my head and looking at her from under my lashes. I saw her breath catch in her throat. Man I was good. "I was just- I was so in _awe_ of the Capitol," I sighed theatrically, "I just couldn't stop admiring it! And of course I'm so _sorry,_ but it was just so... magical!" And, if I could cause that kind of effect on them with an impromptu cute face, a planned one hit them like a nuclear bomb. I scrunched my nose, still looking at her through my lashes with wide eyes, the tiniest smile playing around my mouth. I bit my lip a little, and even creased my eyebrows. I don't even think a puppy could beat that, to be honest.

Emlyn actually rocked back in her seat, hand clutching her chest, as if the look I was giving her has hit her like a corporeal thing. And then she stuck her bottom lip out and whimpered at me. "You're going to _murder me_, Ikey!" I will if you keep calling me that. "You're just..." She seemed lost for words and I couldn't resist.

"Precious," I tipped my head up and grinned again, full of sass for what I prayed was the last time this Interview. "I know,"

The buzzer went, finally, but before I could leave she lunged across and hugged me _for the third time_. I almost sighed at the repetitiveness of this, but I patted her on the back as quickly as I could and released myself from her clutches. I scooted back to my seat and winked at the District Eight girl as we passed on the way up. When I got to my throne I collapsed and just breathed deeply while pretending to be courteous and listening to the District Eight girl's Interview. I felt sort of sorry for her. My Interview would be hard to follow. I smiled vainly to myself, allowing one moment of selfish triumph. I'm shallow, I know.

District Eight girl's Interview was over before I knew it. I swear mine had been ten times longer. I scowled at her as she scuttled back to her seat, and then grinned as the thought crossed my mind that perhaps they cut her short because mine was so awesome and the audience were getting bored at this follow-up. Of course it wasn't true, but I was indulging myself tonight. I felt I deserved it.

I cheered with the rest of the crowd when Marhkuhs stood. My whoop quickly turned to a gasp of surprise as he twisted around and did this, like, _reverse-walking_ thing with his long, oddly-jointed legs to the Interview seat. The crowd was in awe as he raised his arms once he'd arrived and I realised it must be some sort of dance move. I grinned contentedly again. Of_ course_ Marhkuhs would _dance_ to his seat. I let out a belated 'Yeah!' before I realised everyone was mostly quiet, and when the audience, the cameras, Emlyn and Marhkuhs stared at me, I just shrugged and quipped "It was funky," to cover up my mistake. _Still,_ I thought, _idiot!_

I heard a groan and a smacking sound from my right which I interpreted to Gabriella slapping a hand to her face in embarrassment, but Marhkuhs's genuine smile and very audible word of thanks that even the crowd could hear was worth it.

His Interview was great, I guessed. Well, it would have been, if Emlyn hadn't put in freaking _adverts_ at every possible interval. I hadn't realised she was doing it until now, but as I was currently tuned into her mannerisms since she pulled one in my chat with her, I realised what she was doing. And it was ruining his Interview.

"Who's your best friend, honey?" Emlyn asked at one stage, leering at Marhkuhs. "The diamonds from Hal's Jewellers are my best friends," She gave the camera a glittering, saucy wink. Marhkuhs cleared his throat and shifted a little.

"I don't really have any friends," He rumbled, holding his hands in his lap.

"C'mon, baby, who's the person you like most in the world right now? Anyone at all." Emlyn prodded and I wanted to growl at her. He grew up on the street; he wasn't going to have any friends. She should leave him alone.

Marhkuhs squirmed under her watchful eye. "I'm... acquainted with a couple of the Tributes," He said eventually. _No!_ I mentally screamed at him. _No, no, no!_ Sadly I don't think he heard me.

"Is that true?" Emlyn's eyebrows rose, lining her face even further. He just shrugged in answer. This Interview was going south very quickly. "Well?" She snapped in response to his silence. "Who are they?" Marhkuhs just lifted his eyebrows haughtily, using his imposing size to appear too menacing to answer. I almost sighed in relief. You don't say you were friends with Tributes when you had to start killing them tomorrow.

The Interview ended almost mercifully, with Marhkuhs gliding as animatedly back to his seat as he had on the way up, passing District Nine girl with no notice. I applauded politely but it was nowhere near as good an Interview as I would have hoped for him. I hid my pout though, and avoided his dejected gaze as I tried to listen to Nine.

Honeysuckle's Interview was better. She appealed to the crowd by being her sweet self and melting them into a narcissistic puddle. She was dressed in a red pinafore-like dress that ballooned out at her waist and had her hair stylishly messed up with the front twined back. She wore white frilled socks and shiny red shoes, and with her wide, earnest, tawny-coloured eyes she looked overall at age five, not fifteen. She played her part well I think, but I don't think she'd get many sponsors because it seemed like she appealed to the crowd with no material value; almost like she wanted them to know the injustice of the Games but she didn't want to win. Honeysuckle wanted them to know that if she could do anything right now, anything at all, it would to get her brother away from this danger and put him somewhere where he'd always be safe. She was like one of those show-dogs that you saw and cooed over before the main event but once it had left the limelight you didn't care if you even saw it again.

Rhododendron was much of the same. He was wearing a beige two-piece suit with a same coloured tie on a dark brown shirt, but it all looked about a size too big (their stylist must suck) so it gave him the look of a kid trying on his parents' clothes. His hair was carefully arranged to look carelessly flopped around his head like a mop and I'm pretty sure the stylist had even given him unnatural cowlicks. He again appealed with intense eyes, saying how though he was thankful he was here (like hell he was) but he'd rather his sister be somewhere else- anywhere else- because he loved her more than the world itself.

And then each of their three minutes were up, and the Twins from Eleven were finished for the night, and I was worried that they were finished for good.

Gracewyn was elegant and refined, using poise she had apparently pulled out of thin air to flatter the crowd and be self-deprecating at the same time. She used a lot of hand-gestures and flitted about nervously but when the pressing questions came you couldn't underestimate her. When she shifted position and crossed her legs, you could see the muscles in her thighs and calves rippling, or when she flexed involuntarily while laughing or reacting in shocked admiration to something Emlyn had said you could see the taut tendons and coiling power in her neck and arms. She was a real opponent in this competition.

"So, Gracewyn," Emlyn looked slightly snooty as she hitched her leg into view of every camera once again. She seemed to find Gracewyn's long legs and attractive features threatening. "What are some of your hobbies back in District Twelve?"

"Oh," Gracewyn sat her hands in her lap and looked like the poster girl for etiquette. "Well since my father is a Peacekeeper, he has to keep up a strict fitness resume," She started, smiling slightly.

"Yes, dearie," Emlyn interrupted with an upturned nose, brushing her hair off her shoulders to give the cameras a better view of her bare chest. "But we didn't ask about your _father_, we asked-" Gracewyn's mouth snapped shut, and I think Emlyn was about to revel in her seeming victory at one-upping the striking victim she was interviewing. Gracewyn wasn't going to like this.

"Right," Gracewyn snapped, cutting off Emlyn. "Well, if you'd have let me _finish_," She almost hissed and I remembered the Gracewyn who had tried to murder me with a glare alone when I had first met her. I directed calming thoughts at her because if she was too rude to Emlyn then this whole thing could go up in smoke. Because my thoughts were going to help her so much when it came to the decision of whether or not to try and make Emlyn combust with her eyes for interrupting her answer. "I would have told you that my father's fitness resume ran from seven to nine every morning, which included the _elite exercises_ that Peacekeepers do," It was Gracewyn's turn to look down on Emlyn as she totally trumped her. "And I join him every morning before school. That's a hobby of mine."

The crowd 'oohed' at her revelation of strict exercise, which would equal to saying she skydived every day; it was something foreign and different to a majority of Capitol people. Gracewyn batted her smoky eyes at them and the rest of her interview was a competition between her and Emlyn to see who could win the crowd's favour more.

Jonathan was rather subdued on his walk up. It was strange. And I couldn't help a slightly puzzled frown make its way onto my face. From the start of his interview he was polite and charming, and my gut clenched whenever he lent in too close to Emlyn (brave soldier) or tipped his head back and laughed. I didn't realise how nervous I was for him. Then, of course, the point his interview had been racing towards jumped on him.

"So, Jon," Emlyn liked him. She was leaning far too close to Jonathan and occasionally brushing her hand along his leg or arm whenever she thought no one else would notice. "What are your... talents?" She looked at him in a way I presumed was supposed to get a sexual message across. I shuddered slightly at thoughts of what must be going through Emlyn's head, and nothing was pleasant. I thought we were supposed to keep it PG, madam.

"Well," I saw Jonathan turn his head slightly in my direction, almost like he wanted to look at me. But then again that may be my adrenaline-fuelled brain over thinking the situation. Maybe he was just stretching his neck. "I can sing." He breathed out, eager. Emlyn looked rather taken aback, and wasn't reacting, and Jonathan didn't have that much time left in his interview, so if he was going to get this ball rolling he better do it soon. "Would you like to hear?" He blurted out, and I could tell he was worried she was going to say no. But Emlyn just settled further back in her chair.

"Sure, baby," She leered.

"Okay," He straightened up, taken a deep breath and smiling his most winning smile at the crowd. "This is an old song- and I mean _old_. The guy who sang it was pretty famous, I assume, but my family sing it a lot now. I think it's mostly a family song. Okay," He glanced at his shoes for a moment, a blush seeping into his cheeks, and then he looked up again, opened his mouth and started to sing.

"_Wise men say only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you  
Shall I stay  
Would it be a sin  
If I can't help falling in love with you"_

Jonathan crooned, his voice deep and soft, but singing to a tempo slightly faster than what suited the song, probably because he was worried about the time limit. But what did I know, really. His eyes were a light blue now, looking straight into the camera and filled with a sort of warmth that made my toes tingle.

"_Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling so it goes  
Some things are meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life too  
For I can't help falling in love with you"_

I felt something unexpected then. Something swooped in my stomach and my throat kind of closed. I choked a breath and swallowed noisily, my nose twitching. A fear of what was coming hit me roughly next and suddenly I flinched in my seat, Jonathan's voice washing over me, in complete juxtaposition with the terror uncoiling and bearing its terrible head in my belly.

"_Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling so it goes  
Some things are meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life too  
For I can't help falling in love with you  
For I can't help falling in love with you"_

There was silence. You could hear a pin drop, it was that quiet. I wanted someone to do something, say something, do _anything_. I would have started it but I was trying to cope with the unexpected nerves having a rave party in my belly. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, and the silence stretched. Jonathan paled considerably, and looked like a deer caught in headlights. His hands moved nervously to pull on his jacket and he glanced around and caught my eye. He kept staring at me, and I didn't know what to do. But he looked so... in _need_, so I let a small but warm smile grace my features, and let out a long breath through my nose. He collapsed slightly into his seat, and gave me a tiny quirk of lips in return. Then his gaze shifted, and then, after a year-long twenty seconds of silence, the crowd finally made noise.

"_Marry me!_" A girl screamed, literally hollered, from the front row, and then the crowd exploded. I had to clap my hands around my ears to protect myself from the assault of noise that was bursting my ear drums. This was louder than anything yet. Jonathan leapt back in his chair and tried to sink right through the back of it, pushing his shoulders into the hard support. The buzzer must have gone off during the noise because Emlyn ushered him away with a slight push and a groping, lingering hug. He looked slightly queasy as he sat back down and the crowd (who had _just_ started to calm down) erupted all over again. A Peacekeeper off the stage gestured for us to rise after about a minute of being all but assaulted by the din, and ushered us off. I waved again, milking it for all it was worth, but as soon as I got out of sight of the audience I let out a huge breath of air and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. _Finally_ that was over.

I walked over to Jonathan, and hustled him jokingly into an elevator. We were joined by one of the Tributes from Two and both from Six. Jonathan and I stood quietly as the elevator emptied, and on the short journey from floor six to floor seven I began a conversation.

"We know who the fan favourite is," I grinned mischievously at him, and he flipped me off, mirroring Gracewyn on the first night I met her.

"Shut up," He blushed all over again. The elevator binged at my floor by I didn't get off yet. I held the doors open, leaning against one casually so it didn't slide back into place and take me again to floor twelve.

I didn't feel any resentment or jealousy towards Jonathan. It's not like he stole the show from under my feet or anything. In fact, it was kind of brilliant that he got such a good receiving. I was basically happy for him.

"Isn't that the reaction you wanted?" I prodded quietly, curiously. I wanted to know. I mean, if I had the nerve, or a good singing voice, I'm pretty sure that was the reaction I would have wanted. But Jonathan just shrugged uncomfortably.

"I suppose," He sighed. "It went a lot differently in my head," He ducked his head and blushed harder at this, and I didn't know how to approach this new, shy Jonathan. It was kind of endearing; cute, in the way he brought his shoulders up to his ears and scuffed a shoe against the clear glass floor of the elevator. But different to the brash, teasing, flirtatious being I had come to appreciate over the last week. So I gave him a wan, tired smile and exited into the seventh floor, but turning back and giving a salute as he ascended. He grinned impishly back, but was only a shadow of what he was yesterday, and gave me a rude hand gesture in response. I rolled my eyes and, chuckling to myself, walked into the living room. I tried not to think too hard that that was the last time I would see him before we were trying to kill each other.


	10. The Night Before

"You were _magnificent_," Cameria breathed, up in my face when I entered the living room where she, Rowan, and our stylists were waiting. Cameria leaned heavily into me, and only now I noticed how low-cut her top was, showing off her tattoo and plenty of cleavage blandly, but my high had worn off and the thought that Cameria, a mid-twenties- to-early-thirties-aged woman was obviously attracted to me, didn't flatter me at all. It made me uncomfortable, but to pull away now would be... impolite. So I pulled away, murmuring nonsense and making excuses to flee her fumbling hands. Screw manners at a time like this.

Cameria looked slightly put out, but she was lucky I saved the disgusted expression from appearing on my face till after I turned away from her. Rowan saw it though, and he made an aborted motion with his hand, like he was reaching out to cuff me around the head but realised there would be no point. He scowled fiercely at me, but I was saved from a telling-off when the elevator announced its arrival on our floor again and Gabriella swayed in, looking about as energised as I was. Cameria congratulated her too, but not as enthusiastically as she had done me, and Gabriella soon moved off to flop on one end of the squishy, long, curved couch in front of the massive television.

"The re-caps will be on in a little while," Rowan said. I nodded and went quickly to the dining area to get a drink. An attendant gave me something made of a cordial, crushed ice and some sort of drizzle through it when I asked for 'something interesting'. It was a pale yellow colour but the drizzle was a dark brown and sticky, and had a mini neon orange paper umbrella sticking out of the top next to the think black straw. I looked at it warily and decided to get a large glass of water as well. Then I remembered that I may not find water for a while and made the order two glasses of water.

I marched back into the living room with a tray laden with three full cups and plonked the tray on the coffee table, sitting on the other end of the couch to Gabriella and bringing my feet up to join the drinks. I grabbed one of the glasses of water and stared determinedly at the blank television, trying to ignore those watching me.

Those still standing chose a seat after that. My Prep Team sat themselves together on a loveseat that was to the left of our sofa, the side closest to me; squeezing onto the two-seater in an effort to stay near to each other. Rowan placed himself near to Gabriella on the cream couch and Cameria sat herself and her yellow ruffles as near to me as could that seemed natural. Gabriella's Stylist and Celestial Shimmer sat on our couch, sitting comfortably in the space between Rowan and Cameria while Gabriella's Prep Team sat on the arrangement of little pastel-coloured pouffe things on the floor to the right of the couch. They sort of grumbled and I saw my Team shooting them smug looks from their place of squashed pride on the loveseat.

"Pass the remote, will you, Gabriella?" Rowan sighed contentedly from his slow decent into the cushions. Gabriella looked at him then, her eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.

"Of course," she said, blinking her still made-up face. And then I saw her puzzled gaze as it passed over me to scan the room and objects closer to her and realised she had no idea what a remote was. I guess one wouldn't if you'd lived on the streets for most of your life. The part of me closest to my sternum where she had jabbed her finger when she had accused me of ruining their chances wanted to watch her flail. That part of me egged me on and reminded me of the rankness of her breath from never touching a toothbrush in her life before the start of this week, or the painful words she jibed and threw at me without shame.

But then my Kindness Bubble, awaking from being almost dormant lately, quashed the spiteful part of me and gave me new memories to think of. Standing in a white night frock in a rattling train with her arms tucked behind her back; doleful brown eyes softening as they turn to look at mine in a time where they were supposed to be hard; the flash of a gleeful grin, plump lips whispering _nailed it_ into my ear and a hand squeezing the crook of my elbow after an interview; a whisper of congratulations after the Training scores. It also reminded me of the guilt I felt in a lot of interactions with Gabriella; the feel of her cheekbone beneath the back of my hand, the spiteful feeling of joy at her humiliation in the elevator, the malice in my voice at calling her a dumbass in a time of crisis and the spike of fury that coursed through me when I threw a ceramic mug, still with the dregs of hot chocolate swilling around the bottom, at her shadowy figure when she came to reconcile with me in my room that night on the train. Because, of course, it was her.

I snapped up off the couch then, crawling over to where the remote was resting on the end of the coffee table closest to Gabriella and farthest away from me, not meeting her suspicious gaze. I snatched up the slim silver thing, thin as paper and lighter than air, which was the remote, and brought it back with me to my place on the couch. It was strange, that we were from the same District but the only reason I knew what a remote control was is because I was lucky enough to be in the Community Home. That was a strange thought; I was lucky to be in the Community Home. Where children were slapped and lived in conjoined dormitories and ate slop. But only now I realised in depth of how it was better than living on the streets, no matter how badly we were treated. I nestled closer to Cameria than usual and grinned cheekily at the shocked looks I was getting from most of the people in the room.

"I wanted it," I smiled, and poked it enough for the television to switch on. I didn't look at Gabriella as she sat back on the couch, only shifted to get more comfortable against Cameria's side as she slid her arm round the back of my neck and started stroking, unconsciously, it seemed, my bicep. I restrained myself from tearing away from her in a sprint and focussed on the rumbling in my stomach which had started, but I'd sadly have to wait till the end of the recapping of the interviews to eat.

Much to my chagrin, I had to give up the remote to Cameria after two minutes because I got us stuck on some music channel. The girl on stage had very boring clothes on; black corset, red plumed skirt and kicker, high heeled shoes. He arms were both inked with roses and angels and lines of words probably meant to be inspirational and her legs were covered by stockings that didn't cover much. She had lank, ebony hair and tonnes of make up on which made her look dopey and heavy-eyed. She was rumbling along stoically, rocking back and forth on her feet, into a microphone, singing a song about how He and cheated on She and now She was gonna get a "bro so much hotter than that hoe". Rowan was laughing at the incredulously disgusted look that was dancing across my face, and Cameria plucked the remote from my stilled hands, changing the channel to the right one. One of Gabriella's stylists gave a shriek of outrage, claiming that it was her favourite song because _the lyrics were so deep and meaningful and it was about how love prevails._

I coughed slightly to hide my disbelief. Then, just because I'm a smartass and can't keep my opinions to myself, I said "I liked Jonathan's song better," to the awaiting ears of everyone in the room. I then busied myself in ignoring the snide looks I got and stared deeply at the television which was playing the opening theme (which consisted of lots of blaring and beats) of the Interviews.

The Interviews were much brighter and cheerful looking on the television. Sure, some of the more unsubtle Tributes were easily seen twitching and being nervous, but when the camera scoped over to me during District Three boy's interview, I was looking largely unruffled. Gabriella, too, seemed very poised, hands clasped in her lap for most of the waiting period. Unlike me, her eyes were trained on the pair talking, while I was, though paying attention 95% of the time, moving my eyes restlessly and making faces of indecipherable emotions every now and again. Damn nerves.

Gabriella's interview was worse than I remember it. The close ups of both our faces were creepily dramatic and drastically overused (I think the cameraman needed to be banned from the zoom button) and her false cheeriness was alarming. But, I can say truthfully, she was at least a little bit better than some of the other contestants.

Unfortunately I felt the same way about my interview. Oh, goodness, it was horrible to watch. The shyness, the cockiness, and the switching between the two, was painful to view. I was assured (like was had assured Gabriella before me) that my interview was wonderful but I still felt unsure. The hunger I had felt before abandoned me and I curled up onto the couch and, even if I don't want to admit, a little closer to Cameria's warm body. I wanted comfort, so sue me.

The hand stroking my bicep stilled and I waited for her to take advantage of my current want for comfort. But that was all. Her hand just stilled and she glanced once in my direction, a warm look, a not-quite smile on her face, and she returned to watching the television.

After the rest of the Interviews were over, everyone left the room for dinner. I had swallowed all three of my drinks, the yellow cordial one not bad on the way down, but had a rather strange aftertaste of pine nuts.

Dinner was a quiet affair, though more decadent than what we've had all the previous nights. The atmosphere was heavy, and Rowan encouraged Gabriella and I to eat as much as we could, giving no reason why but we already knew the answer. He pointed out food he said had 'staying power' and kept repeating the words 'low G.I.' even though we _clearly_ had no idea what G.I. was or why it mattered why foods had that ingredient in it. But we complied and stuffed our faces till we were filled to bursting.

And then we got a special dessert. The mute servants brought out elongated glass dishes, one for each of us, filled with three scoops of vibrant pink-bordering-on-scarlet ice-cream covered in sauces and various nuts and edible adornments. Cameria clapped her hands and cackled at her ice-cream and even Rowan looked confused.

"Don't you understand?" Cameria cried excitedly, bouncing in her seat. I was one blown-nerve short of just thumping my head against the table endlessly. "It's raspberry ice-cream, right?" Rowan was the only one polite enough to nod. "But it's special! This is the special Quarter Quell ice-cream!" We all, everyone at the table, bowed our heads to look at our desserts in unison. My bloated stomach tightened as some crimson, liquefied ice-cream bled out of the frozen lump. I saw tiny little number twenty-fives imbibed throughout the dish; in the ice-cream or in tiny (apparently edible) beads adorning the chocolate sauce. "And raspberry was voted flavour of the Games too!" Cameria continued to babble. I shared a shaky glance (from my end) with Darwin, who smiled and scooped up a huge portion of ice-cream and spooned it into his happy mouth, and I realised, just because it was red and so was blood and I was already full, why not eat it? That didn't mean anything. So I dished pretty much a whole globe of ice-cream onto my spoon, nuts, twenty-fives, sauces and all, into my mouth, and beamed back, feeling a trickle of melted dessert run from the corner of my mouth to my chin. I crunched my way through raspberry seeds and creamy, sugary mess until my bowl was just the melted dreggy remains of almost-red, creamy soup.

Once everyone was done and we had been dismissed from the table, Rowan pulled Gabriella and me aside, looking grim and strained. He was close enough I could see the natural brown of his hair on the roots of the acid-green colour, and see the light reflected off the gems in his teeth. He then gestured for Lexandra (meaning Darwin) and soon the couple were joining us too.

"I can't keep you long." Rowan started, blunt and brash, but his face softened. "You two..." Rowan said to us, and I was instantly uncomfortable. I was accepting that lately people were talking to us like we were on our deathbeds, but it didn't mean I liked it, especially when it was my mentor doing it. He placed one hand on each of our shoulders. My throat closed. _This is it.._.I thought."Have been _brilliant_." Rowan looked us in the eyes alternatively, and I felt Gabriella shift beside me.

"Ditto," Darwin smiled from behind Lexandra. "Isn't that right, Lexi?" He took Lexandra's hand to draw her attention and, when she had faced him serenely, pointed to us, mainly Gabriella. I felt Gabriella stiffen as the emancipated lady turned to face us and Lexandra's dreamy smile grew wider. I had heard this woman laugh but never had she said a word in front of me. I'd imagined it was always because she couldn't speak, but maybe it was just because I hadn't been listening.

Lexandra opened her mouth but turned uncertainly to meet Darwin's eyes. He nodded towards us encouragingly, and her smile returned as she faced Gabriella and me again. She took a breath in and I expected some wise words, some great advice, something _meaningful_.

"_Thank you_," she whispered, and her voice, like the sounds of fluttering, dying leaves in the middle of autumn or moths wings on a windowpane, remained in my head for the rest of the night.

I suppose it was typical that I couldn't sleep. I wasn't thinking about tomorrow per se, but I'm pretty sure my subconscious was very aware of the impending threat that I may not be alive tomorrow night that it coerced the rest of my body to be prepared for fight or flight by pumping adrenaline around. The excessive energy, coupled with my belly complaining that I had overeaten and wasn't thankful for that, kept me very much awake. After about an hour of lying curled in bed I decided to tough it out and watch some television, maybe get some tips.

I padded out to the dim lounge room with bare feet and fumbled with the remote, glad that the sound system seemed to be on the quiet setting so it didn't blare out loudly when I turned on the television and wake everyone up. Sitting cross-legged on the centre of the couch, I achieved in getting an appropriate channel for my needs this time, not some crappy music channel this time or a cartoon about a plasticine cat or something equally useless. The channel I had flicked it to was just showing the end of another recap of the Interviews. I was about to change it when some announcers, not Emlyn and Bunny but two elderly Capitolites who seemed to be pretty serious, appeared in plush armchairs in a fancy mansion-like set, opening a show which they called this year's _Tribute Reviews_.

A picture of the girl from District One popped up, an official picture, and the presenters started _evaluating_ her; her chances of survival based on her performance at the Tribute Parade, her training score and her Interview. And by review did I mean _review_. They took ten whole minutes to dissect every little thing about this girl and told the audience just how likely it was for Katti Meow-Meow to win this year's Hunger Games. The assessment included snippets of people from the crowd answering questions on what they thought about District One's female, what the presenters themselves thought about the Tributes and photos, both official and even poor-quality photos that were obviously taken with an unprofessional camera by someone who was definitely not a photographer of the Tributes. I don't even know how they got most these photos as we were supposed to be mostly hidden from the general public for a majority of the time. In the end they didn't give her a score in itself, but District One had a pretty good chance of winning, they let us know.

I watched, gobsmacked, as these two elderly people assessed Tribute after Tribute. Let me just say, these people were as sharp as they were horrible. These two presenters totally destroyed the small stereotype I had built up about all Capitol residents being complete idiots. Their analytical skills were just shocking, and I was so absorbed that I almost forgot they would be reviewing me, right after Gabriella.

The presenters never fully excluded anyone from winning the Games, never actually said that one person had zilch chance of winning. I had to admit, my admiration for these people were growing, as was my vocabulary by watching them. Gabriella had, according to the two aged beings sitting in the plush thrones, a reasonable chance of survival if she kept a cool head and didn't overreact. A grainy, amateurish photo of Gabriella leaving the Training Centre at the end of a day appeared, where she was wiping a hand over her sweaty face, revealing some of the yellowing black eye I had given her where her makeup had run from the sweat. The presenters speculated, bantering back and forth for a full minute, on whether Gabriella had tumbled with another Tribute or simply run into a wall, clearly (and thankfully) not knowing how she truly got it, and her rates of winning rose by a smidgeon because this apparently brought out her 'fighting spirit'.

"Now we move on to District Seven's notorious male Tribute, Isaac Alldrenn," The female presenter deadpanned her words as she pulled out a couple of pieces of paper which I presumed had details about me on them and looked them over. A quality picture of me draped across the chair and grinning and winking at the camera at the Interviews appeared, and I must say I was pleased with my official picture. "An online poll has revealed about this little Tribute," She started again and I bristled slightly. _Who's she calling little_? "Has been voted 'cutest competitor' of this year's Games, against tough competition such as Gerrad Powers of District Nine and the Raintree twins of District Eleven." She smiled blandly at the camera and her male counterpart rolled his eyes. _Oh,_ I thought blankly, mouth gaping at the news of whatever poll this was, _that's why she called me little._

"Like that'll help him at all," The male anchor grumbled, wiping his nose with a pale gold handkerchief.

"It just might, Jerry," She turned to him and raised a pencilled eyebrow. "Being almost eighteen and been given the title of 'cutest Tribute' is no easy feat. That will raise his votes for sure, especially with the post-Games high bidders." I squinted at the screen for a few seconds. High bidders? What do they bid for?

"We have two snippets of his fans and voters, don't we?" Jerry rumbled, and sure enough the screen changed to a video of a rather plain Capitolite news reporter standing in a throng of teenagers at, what seemed to be, a Hunger Games rally of some sort. Super.

"And who's your favourite?" The reported yelled over the noise of the cheering to a boy of probably around my age.

"Isaac, District Seven!" He replied instantly, looking ecstatic. His purple spiked hair was practically quivering in excitement. "He's _so_ funny! And adorable!" He chirped into the microphone the reporter was holding out to him. I felt my eyebrows rise incredulously but shrugged it off; this was good news I guess, even if I did find it strange that a boy was calling me adorable. But I had long since accepted that things were different here in the Capitol than in the Districts.

The next clip was a male reporter this time in a different, quieter setting, speaking to a dumpy woman with dull green hair and very thick eyelashes. She must have already revealed that I was her favourite and I listened, with trepidation, to her words. "Oh, yes, I do so adore him, and of course I voted for him!" She purred unattractively into the camera. My heart thudded and I watched, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights, leaning closer to the television as if I wouldn't be able to hear her comments. "I'd so love if he won so I could meet him in person and pinch his... cheeks." I jerked back away from the screen, and thought how it was too late in the night for me to deal with this. I just continued to stare in shock at the television, as the clip was, thankfully, finished after that, and the two anchors returned to banter about the reality of me winning the Games. I wanted to pay attention to them, but all I could think of was that woman. Or, more likely, what she symbolised.

Was this what happened to all the Victors? I mean, were they just wanted for their bodies by their fans? The words _high bidders_ returned to me, and I wasn't sure if my face went scarlet or paled astoundingly. But, the Victors could refuse, right? It wasn't possible for them to be _forced_ into that... was it?

Oh, god.

I watched the rest of my review with detachment, chin resting on my knees as I hugged them to my chest. I was given a decent, but not overly hopeful, chance of survival due to the sponsors I'd probably received for my status as the cutest Tribute, but I'd have to show some genuine talent in the Arena or my chances would diminish fast.

I watched the others' chances before I went to bed, though I did it with impassiveness, staring a little to the left of the television, and most of what I heard went in one ear and out the other. What I did retain slowly clawed the hole in my stomach wider as I heard that Marhkuhs had a great chance of killing people with his bare hands if he could get close enough and if they weren't the 'acquaintances' he claimed he made during the week, or that Honeysuckle and Rhododendron were as good as dead the moment they rose up into the Arena tomorrow.

Gracewyn had the best chance of all of us, her strength and score getting her the sponsors who valued power and her beauty and poise reeling in the sponsors who wanted her alive for... other reasons.

Jonathan, despite having the best reaction in the Interviews, was reviewed as almost a songbird; good to look at and to listen to, but no real purpose, though they reprimanded themselves when they talked about his Training score. I ended up switching the television off three quarters of the way through the highlights of Jonathan's interview, right after he finished singing, and running to my room. I couldn't take any more, and I buried my face into my pillow, knowing that I should try to sleep sometime before tomorrow. His song was ringing through my head.

_Only fools rush in._

I tugged the blankets and sheets out from where they were tucked underneath the mattress and cocooned myself tightly in them, face still smushed into the pillow. I bit at it, pulling my arms tight by my side and flexing my legs so it felt as though all the muscles in my body were stretching, and I nosed impossibly further into my pillow. What was I doing?

_Take my hand, take my whole life too._

One by one, I relaxed the muscles; unclenching my fingers and toes, softening my arms unwinding my coiled legs. I could do this, I could sleep, I could.

_My whole life..._

I relaxed my eyelids last from where they'd been screwed up tight, and stopped biting my pillow. I gave a long, mournful sigh, and I felt my mind finally drift off.

_Take..._

My last conscious thought was, strangely, the memory of a silver necklace and hair that even combs couldn't tame. It was comforting, a little breath of fresh air in this godforsaken, polluted city. My chest filled slowly, comfortably, with warmth and I swear my lips almost smiled. _I'm not scared..._ I murmured sleepily into my pillow, only fractionally noticing the damp spot where I had drooled on it when biting before.

_I'm not scared,_ the feeling was stronger now, and sleep closed around me.

_I'll be home soon_.

"Wakie wakie, eggs and bakie!" a voice chirped shrilly into my ear, and I all but snarled at the offending, high pitched tone. "C'mon, baby, up, up, up!" A hand shook my shoulder and I moaned to tell my next murder victim that I was awake. I took a deep breath in through my nose and then sat up slowly, the blankets pooling around my thighs, flexing my jaw and sucking my cheek to relax it from where it was stiff from sleeping on it all night.

"Up and at 'em, Ike, it's a big day today!" The voice I now tagged as Celestial Shimmer's scratched slowly and incessantly at my dull mind, and I mumbled sleepily in response, ready to flop back down onto the pillows and the nest I had made out of the blankets again.

And then it _actually_ registered that I was sleeping on a comfortable bed (always suspicious), in a room with good-standard artificial light (and that joyously means it's before dawn as well) and _Celestial Shimmer had woken me up_ and my eyes snapped open to full awareness in a second. Which was a bad idea as I was blinking tears from my blinded eyes for the next few minutes, but it got the ball rolling in my drowsy mind.

Today was a big day _indeed_.

Celestial rushed me to the roof after that, dropping lots of "sweethearts" and "sugars" along the way (we were surrounded by the mute servants, so she was showering me with motherly love). We just had enough time to get me into a simple pair of light cotton pants and an airy shirt before my stylist was pinching and plucking at my biceps, trying to usher me along. The roof we went to was not the private garden that belonged to the District Twelve Tributes but a flat, grey plain where we stood for a few moments before a hovercraft appeared silently overhead and dropped a ladder down for us. Some sort of current froze me in place while I was clinging to the ladder, which was nice of them, I thought, until we reached the interior of the hovercraft and a man in a white coat and fricken safety goggles stuck my arm with a _huge_ needle, explaining to me that this was my tracker, so they don't lose me in the arena. This was _not_ nice of them.

There's the word. I hadn't heard it yet today, but there it was. _Arena_. I was locked in place on the ladder, so I couldn't even widen my eyes in fear, and I guess I was grateful, and it also shook off the last traces of sleep off of me. But as soon as the _pipe_ they'd stuck in to my arm was removed the ladder let me go and, as I didn't expect it, I sort of half-crumpled to the ground. I was lucky I had kept my grip on the rungs.

I scuttled nervously after one of the mute servants as the ladder descended again for Celestial, and found a room where breakfast has been set up. I took a seat, keeping a rhythmic jingle in my knee, and when Celestial joined me I started eating as much as I could, which is to say, not much. I got down a bowl of hot, grainy stew that was drizzled with honey, and half a piece of toasted bread, drinking two glasses of juice before switching to water.

The flight took _forever_. I kept sipping water all through it, and it was ironically pleasant to watch the sky light up from a dusty gold to a brilliant blue as the sun rose. After maybe an hour in flight the windows suddenly blacked out (freaking me out _much_ more than I'd like to admit) and the atmosphere changed. I could sense that were weren't going horizontal any more, but descending, and then there was a feeling of _stillness_ as the engines were cut and the doors opened, silent servants seeing Celestial and I out of the craft (on ladders again) and down to the classy caverns underneath the arena.

There was about a minutes' walk to my little Launch Room beneath the arena, and I took a moment to revel in the simpleness that this would be one of the last moments that no one would be trying to kill me. When we arrived, Celestial sent me to the shower with a wave of her hand, and I took a short, hot one, revelling in the steam and heat to try all remedies I knew to remove the frustrations from my body. I cleaned my teeth once I was out, and then met Celestial Shimmer back in the Launch Room where she told me I took too long and that my clothes had already arrived.

She helped me into soft green cargo pants that were a little on the bulky side and had three pockets on each leg and were so long the cuffs trailed on the floor, which Celestial told me was intentional. She quickly threaded a broad belt through the loops on the pants and buckled it tight, ignoring my groans with a sour expression. The shirt was weird; dark blue with sleeves ending at the top of the biceps, and made of a waterproof material that was so skin-tight you could see the definitions of _everything_ it covered. _So much for privacy,_ I thought, as I traced the bottom of my ribs and the waves of my stomach through the shirt.

After Celestial had tucked the shirt into my pants, she put some thin, clingy socks on my feet and then slid thick, brown, lace-up boots on top, knotting them fiercely. She tucked the cuffs of my pants into my boots and told me about the treads on the soles of the shoes and how they were good for running. It would have been a good conversation if I had known what treads _were_.

Before she put the last piece of clothing on me she reached into her pocket and withdrew her hand clenched into a fist. Dangling from one end was the silver signet necklace, no longer tarnished but shiny and bright, like it was new. The carved initials stood out vividly against the thin disk on the end of the chain, and I was caught off guard at how _beautiful_ the chain looked now it wasn't dull and speckled with brown. Celestial clipped it behind my neck, her navy blue lips twitching into the ghost of a smile as she tucked it into my shirt. The metal was cold on my sternum but the weight was comforting. I couldn't believe I had forgotten about the necklace.

With sadness I realised I couldn't recall the girl who had given me the necklace's face, just her unruly hair and that she had had freckles. Chewing my lower lip, I ran my fingers over the slight bulge in my shirt where the necklace was, and then Celestial was getting out the last piece of clothing in the box and shaking it out.

It was a high-collared, woollen, zip-up greatcoat with breast pockets on either side, and zip pockets on the waist. After you zipped it up there was a button flap over the zipper, right up to your throat, and the cuffs of the arms went to where my fingers split from the meat of my hand. It was a dull green colour, almost the same as my pants, and it ended with a double hem line at mid-thigh length. It was heavy and warm, but Celestial didn't zip it up so it hung loose and open about my torso and hips.

"Shouldn't the _jacket_ be waterproof and the shirt be woollen?" I asked Celestial confusedly, and she pursed her star-studded lips as if the thought hadn't occurred to her.

"I'll suggest it for next year," She answered me, and I rolled my eyes. Because that suggestion would be so much help to me _next_ year. "You comfortable?" Her question unnerved me, as there was no one else in the room so she didn't have to be nice to me. Still, I walked around the perimeter of the room once, skating far around the metal plate, and nodded my assent. "Right. Then we wait for the call, now," She seated herself on the couch but I couldn't join her, I was too nervous.

I bounced on the spot for a few moments before considering another glass of water. But I didn't feel even remotely thirsty and, knowing my odds, I'd need to pee before I could get far enough away from the other Tributes and then I'd be killed while wetting my pants. And that would be very embarrassing for this year's most adorable Tribute.

I scowled at the thought but I didn't stay sour for long as a monotonous female voice sounded from no visible source and asked me rather politely to ready for Launch. I saw Celestial stand up as I shakily appraised the metal plate I was to stand on to ascend into the arena.

"Come on, Isaac," she said quietly, and I felt her hand softly push into the small of my back through the thick material, guiding me. I stumbled over to the plate, and almost fell as I took my position.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," I apologised, but I don't know what for or even who I was apologising too. I looked at Celestial desperately, shaking from head to toe, and, again, she surprised me and gave me what I needed.

"Head up, kiddo." She snapped, but I saw in her eyes that the brash tone didn't run further than skin deep. "You're not afraid, are you?"

Heart still pounding, knees still shaking, I quelled the fear rising in my stomach, contained it, and pushed it down. "N-n-" I started, mouth betraying me, and she narrowed her eyes at me. I tried again.

"No," I barked, and the glass tube lowered around me, sealing me off from everyone but myself. But I still needed to get the words out, so I continued.

"No," I said, "I'm not scared." But I was. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but right then, in that moment, I was _terrified._


	11. Spoils of War

I expected the cylinder to rise straight after I was sealed off. But I stayed where I was and I thought _okay, this must be normal, right?_

But then I saw Celestial's eyebrows crease in puzzlement and I realised that no, this was far from normal. The panic started to rise in me again, and I slapped my right hand on the glass, looking around. My left arm jerked and the hand attached slapped into the glass wall close to my side, right on the knuckle, and I swore at the pain. Now was _not_ the time for nervous jitters.

Hearing the muffled _smack_ sound from my hand, Celestial zoned back in on me from where she had been eyeing empty space in apparent thought, and held up her hands in the universal gesture for '_calm down_', frowning at me. My fast breaths were fogging up the glass in front of my face and I wiped it away hastily to mouth '_what's wrong?'_ to Celestial through the soundproof glass, to which she shook her head at me, worry in her eyes.

Just as the dread in me was rising to an uncontrollable height and the waiting was reaching the time of two minutes, the plate moved suddenly, rising upwards, and I yelped in surprise. I saw Celestial swiftly move close to the glass, trying to convey words to me, but I was ascending too fast to see what she was saying. I quickly entered darkness for a short amount of time, and then I saw bright, white light above me a few seconds before it enveloped me, along with a cold wind and the stench of garbage.

Blinded for only a few seconds, I blinked rapidly to clear out my vision, trying not to wobble too much by my recent freedom of space. If I moved off my plate I'd be blown to pieces, and while I had toyed with the idea of dying that quickly when I thought it was either that or drown, now, with _this _arena, there was no way.

Because I was standing in a _city_.

As Bunny Crosswire's voice rang out of the air, announcing it that the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games were beginning, I realised it wasn't a ruined city, and it wasn't even the burnt out husk of a city visited by nuclear war. This was a proper _urban jungle_. Yes, it didn't look as modern as the Capitol, but it had the look of a city that had been vacated just yesterday. There was even a crumpled newspaper rolling across a road in the foul wind.

We were spaced around what I presumed was the city centre; skyscrapers with fourteen floors and glass entry doors surrounding us, side-alleys and roads running off in every space a building was not. There were footpaths outside the buildings with manholes in them as well as the road, and gutters on the curb. There was a smell like garbage and too many people with the hint of a slightly acrid undertone, like burnt rubber, hanging in the air. The sight and smell of it all was overbearing, powerful and _ugly_.

While the wind was tugging at my greatcoat, my eyes were darting around looking at the available resources. The closest thing to me was a freaking _hat_, not a woollen beanie that _may_ have been of some use, but a _fluoro yellow hard hat_ like the woodworkers and construction people wore back in Seven. Which may be helpful, but there was no way I was getting that. It would be too easy to spot and too awkward to carry. Further along was a loaf of bread, and a glistening package a few metres to the left of that. The resources got better and more valuable the closer to the gleaming Cornucopia they were, but as much as my eyes searched, I could not see a whip. But whips were small and though I couldn't find one now didn't mean there were none here.

The Cornucopia was surprisingly empty, from what I could see; there were containers of water, a few tents, a ragtag assortment of clunky weapons and, from what I could see, rather good quality food. From previous years I could have sworn the Cornucopia was usually power stocked: the items in the mouth stacked up to the roof, and no shortage of weapons. But here, all I could see was maybe a spear or two, one decrepit bow (I couldn't even see the arrows) and daggers that would look more at home in a child's play kitchen than here.

Storing my confusion to the back of my mind, I decided now was not the time to be thinking of kiddie kitchens, and now I had to plan where to go and what to do; what direction to run in and what to grab on my way there.

Very suddenly, I heard a shrieking cry from my right. I turned my head quickly to see the girl from District Three crying and shaking, not even trying to hide it from the cameras. She turned to look all around her, eyes wide and streaming tears. In her hand was a small yellow handkerchief which I presumed was her District token, and my heart thudded painfully as she placed her feet heavily when she completed the 360.

She kept howling, and I knew about thirty seconds of our minute had gone by. This girl had been crying since day dot. I remembered her Reaping, where she had to be thrown on stage, and her just sitting still all the Training days, not even attempting to learn, just trying to get out of the building every so often. I don't remember her Interview, but if there was one thing I'd bet, it was that she had cried during it.

She let out another moan and then a full bodied sob, which is when everything changed. It rocked her forward, and it didn't even look like she tried to stop herself. She just let her torso lean out and her foot follow through like you do when you stumble and step out to regain your balance. But here, at least for the next twenty-five seconds, there was no room to step out.

I managed to cry "Hey, wait, _no-_" before her foot made contact with the cracked concrete footpath her metal plate was planted in the middle of, and I had the good enough sense to crouch as the blast shook everything slightly. I felt something like rain splatter me softly, and I blinked in surprise, feeling the blood run down my face, staying in my couched position with my eyes wide and my face frozen.

It didn't seem real, but as I slowly recovered I realised I mustn't have much time left. Letting out only a soft sob of distress, I stood up shakily, looking down and assessing the state of my whole right side. Which was, needless to say, covered in a light pattering of blood.

I tried to get my head back in the game but I was stunned. That bomb mustn't have been your usual run-of-the-mill exploding cartridge as it caused her _body_ to almost _implode_ rather than the whole blow-up-the-ground-in-a-rain-of-fire kind of thing. It must be a special bomb used in the place of the normal bombs to spare the other Tributes the shower of concrete and heavy-duty debris that would have surely thundered upon us if that thing had blown up the ground.

I cast a quick glance at the person who had been on the other side of District Three's girl, and saw them not much better off than I was. They at least had their sight set back on the Cornucopia, and I was about to do that as well when the gong sounded, and I was surprised _yet again_. This was not a good start for me.

I stumbled off the plate, and then started running towards the golden horn. Rethinking this plan, I stopped for a second and then crouched and grabbed the bread and the shiny plastic package next to it, only daring to sprint a little closer to the bloodbath in search of a backpack. Realising that this, too, was a bad plan, I turned away, with only a package and a (I was willing to bet stale) loaf of bread in my hands, and sprinted for the closest opening between the buildings to where I was.

The clang of weapons and the cries of the blood-thirsty and the dying started as made it into the first pathway between two buildings. _Please, please, please_, I prayed desperately as I ran, licking my lips and deeming that another bad choice as I tasted blood, hoping that nothing would spear me in the back as I ran away. Thankfully, the path I had followed was a road and not a dead-ended alleyway, and I ran up that, not knowing whether the long straight highway of asphalt was a blessing or was going to get me easily seen and killed. It was awkward running with both hands full, the bread crumbling slightly under my tight grip, but I'd rather eat broken bread than drop it. I could've turned and gone into a building here, but I was willing to bet that as soon as the bloodbath was over the strong Tributes with the alliance would start searching the buildings nearest to the Cornucopia, so the further I could get away, the better.

The road led to an intersection where I could either run left or right. I chose right immediately for no reason in particular, and kept running. The road kept turning, and I soon lost track of the way back to the centre, but that didn't particularly bother me. I caught a glimpse of another Tribute once when an alleyway between two buildings led to another road and I saw a girl running the opposite direction to what I was through it, though she did not see me.

In an insane moment I thought to run after her, sneak up and... What? Brain her with my almighty loaf of bread? I quashed the idea and kept running, noting sadly that she had a backpack and I didn't. She was the last person I saw for a while.

After the first half hour of half-running, half-jogging I moved into a fast walk, because, let's face it, I didn't have that much stamina to run for more than thirty minutes, and then after another hour of that I progressed to a normal pace of walking. Just as I started the normal pace, so about an hour and three-quarters into the Games, the first cannon fires rung through the Arena. The sound shocked my highly-strung nerves so much that before I recognised what they were I had thrown myself onto the ground, arms above my head, cowering in fear. _Quick reflexes, check,_ I remembered Rowan saying to me on the train ride here, but the thought far from made me smile.

The cannons informed me that seven people had died in the bloodbath. Seven was... not a lot. Man, usually it was about ten or eleven who died in the bloodbath. I didn't let myself wonder who the six undetermined to me were. The only death I knew of was the girl whose blood I wore. Though I did hope that no one I knew had died today. Big ask, though. But, then again, the day was only beginning. Plenty of time for more deaths.

How optimistic.

For three hours after the first cannon fires, I wound my way through streets until the tight clutters of skyscrapers dispersed into two-floor flats and then into suburban houses. There wasn't another soul in sight, and though my pace was steady, my mouth was tight and my eyes were darting in every direction, ears straining. I was in no way at peace. And, though I knew there would be any number of cameras on me at this moment, I had never felt so alone. No, alone isn't the right word. I had never felt so _isolated_.

As I strode through suburbia, my feet were hurting, even in my ugly hiking boots, and the palms of my hands were getting sweaty from holding on to the bread and the package for so long. _Maybe_, I suggested to myself, _it's time for a break_.

I swung around in a complete turn, taking in everything, noting any signs of movement. The powerlines overhead swayed in the wind and buzzed a little, and the wind chimes hanging from one of the house's front porch jingled merrily to no one. While it was deserted I darted into one of the more ramshackle houses, but not going in far, just through the (unlocked) front door to sit underneath the window complete with thin, floral curtains, facing the road I had just come off.

I hesitantly placed my shiny package on the floor in front of me as well as the bread next to it, and observed them. The bread wasn't sliced, and the package had no label on it. Unbuttoning the single flap on the parcel, I pulled out a sheet of plastic with a hole in the middle and a cowl to go over the hole. That's it, that's all it was. And then I realised what I had made off with. A loaf of bread and a _poncho_. My biggest spoil of war from the bloodbath was a _poncho_.

Fuming, I attempted to fold up the poncho to put it back into its packaging nicely, but to no avail, as it wouldn't fit back in. Gritting my teeth, I continued on with my silent struggle for five minutes, but no matter which way I folded it, it would not fit in. My last attempt before I would give up was no folding, just stuffing it back into the plastic. And, lo and behold, it fit, albeit crumpled and creased. I was tempted to swear like a sailor if I wasn't sure it would lead other Tributes to me or if it would get my title of 'cutest Tribute' taken off me. And as much as I disliked that label, it was possibly earning me sponsors, so I decided I should at least attempt to keep it.

I sat cross-legged under the window for a while, observing the little room of the house I was in at that moment, complaining internally about my sore feet. This seemed to be the sitting room for the abandoned house, with two floral-patterned armchairs (with matching cushions on them) placed around a small coffee table. There was a pale blue, thin carpet beneath my legs and three doors leading into the room, including the one I came through.

When my feet's complaints had died down to small whines, I got up and hesitantly explored the house. It was a one-storey, two-bedroom kind of shack, with ugly brown-and-yellow wallpaper, a stained kitchen and strange-smelling furniture. When I checked them hurriedly, the kitchen cupboards were empty or cluttered haphazardly with useless items such as window-cleaner in spray-bottles or sponges (surprise, surprise, thanks for nothing) and the bathroom's medicine cabinet had strange bottles and vials I wasn't even game to touch. Slightly parched, I turned on the tap in the bathroom, only to find the water was a rusty shade of brown. I decided wasn't that thirsty (yet) and turned away.

Wow, I was becoming soft. I wouldn't even drink brown water any more. The Capitol has had a bad effect on me.

The bedroom seemed harmless enough, just a plain, stripped double mattress on a wooden base, one chest of drawers and a small cupboard. A small window was above the chest of drawers, and there was a mirror on the cupboard door, giving me the first glimpse of my blood-splattered face. Sadly, all I could think of was that I did not look cute.

I took a few minutes in front of the mirror, vainly trying the scrape the blood off my face with my blunt nails. After almost scratching my eye out, I remembered there was a bathroom here and while the water was undrinkable to someone with my high water standards (darn Capitol), I could use it to wash.

I munched on my (yes, stale) bread idly as I gave the house another short once-over, even venturing outside and around the back of the house to see if there was anything of use. There wasn't, so I returned to the bedroom and opened the closet, hoping to find some clothes or anything that could be of use. Instead I found a few long, velvety, ugly dressing gowns that I didn't think could be of use even to bandage wounds. I tied up my bread in its plastic, not even bothering to let the air out of the bag as it was already stale, and dangled it loosely out of one hand as I examined the closet. On the shelf above the gowns was a faded, navy-blue beanie which I snatched in delight, only to drop it again at the suspicious-looking mothballs that rolled out of it.

As I was about to shut the door I pushed the dressing gowns out of the way to peer tiredly into the back of the cupboard, toeing the beanie out of the range of the swinging door as I did so. A glint of silver caught my eye and I hastily did a double-take, sucking in a quick huff of breath at the fact that there was a _sword_ at the back of the cupboard. A _sword_. And not a wooden one, either, but an honest-to-goodness slim, silver sword with a carved hilt and sharpened point and everything.

Oh _my_.

I snatched it up quickly, throwing my bread over my shoulder to the direction of the bed out of the choice of using both my hands to excitedly examine the slender piece of sturdy metal. But just as I balanced the hilt in my right hand and the flat of the blade in my left, there was a loud popping sound mixed in with the muffle snap like gloved hands clapping from behind me, and I whirled around with a yelp.

My bread had made it to the mattress it seemed, and the bag it had been in had popped due to the air I left inside it and the fact that the mattress seemed to have bent in the middle and closed like a trap. I stared at the bed in stunned silence as each end slowly started to open again and return to its horizontal position, the crushed, sorry remains of my bread left in the middle.

I let out the breath I had been holding in a long sigh, shocked into wide-eyed stillness as I continued to stare at the now normal bed. Thank god I hadn't sat on that off-white mattress or it might have been me crushed into flatbread instead of, well, my flat bread.

Remembering I was in fact holding a deadly weapon, I looked down at my hands to find out that, unfortunately, it seemed I gripped things tighter when frightened, and the adrenaline in my blood didn't allow my brain to register, well... the blood.

It was a long cut, probably running the width of my left palm, but it wasn't too thick and not too deep. I ended up ripping a few strips off of the thin curtains on the living room windows and bandaging my hand with them. It was kind of awkward cutting curtains with a sword, but I managed and I hoped I was showing on the televisions right now so potential sponsors could see that I could at least look after minimal injuries without freaking out.

After I fixed up my hand as best I could, I returned to the bedroom (again), eyeing the bed warily. I didn't know what to do, but my throbbing hand and aching feet were begging me not to do much, whatever I chose.

It was a very sad fact that I was tired after only half a day's steady walking. I felt ashamed that my feet hurt, but they hurt nonetheless. My mind was also foggy, overloaded with too many emotions and shocks to keep me alert enough to continue my journey away from the city centre.

_And really_, my tired brain told me, _did I have to keep moving_? I mean, I was in a nondescript house with minimal dangers, was pretty far away from where the other Tributes would be searching and what were the chances they'd come my way? _And_, I thought as I looked down at my sword that I was holding loosely in my right hand, _I have this_.

_I could kill someone_.

I swallowed thickly but knew that it was necessary. I hadn't thought about it yet, today, but I could see it, feel it, glimmering softly in the distance. A tiny ray of light, like daylight shining around a dark corner; a light at the end of this pitch-dark tunnel. I had a chance, I knew I did.

I could do this.

So I made myself and all of my two-and-a-half possessions at home in the bedroom, my hazy mind at least thinking up a decent plan of attack if perpetrators did end up finding me. I planned that I would sleep on the floor there in the bedroom, facing the door, so if someone did come in I could carry out what was necessary on my own ground. I had my sword and hopefully the upper-hand with the knowledge of the mattress-trap, so I may be able to trick them. I moved the mirror off of the cupboard door and out of the room, standing it on the corner of the hall so I could see if someone was coming down and be a little prepared.

There had been no cannon fires since the announcement with the bloodbath, and I didn't know how to feel. I was conflicted; did I feel happy that only seven people had died, which meant some of my comrades were still alive? Or did I feel stressed about the very same fact? It was weird to think that the next time I saw Jonathan it could be when he was trying to kill me. I presumed he was physically stronger than me, and that presumption became more of an acceptance as I thought about his coiling muscles and strong arms that were thicker and harder than my own ropey, pale ones. I swallowed thickly as a nightmarish thought ambushed me of Jonathan pinning me down and wrestling the sword out of my flimsy grip, then holding the edge of the blade against my throat, putting just enough pressure on it that I could feel the tickling, itching sensation that was the outer layers my skin just starting to unknit as he grinned manically at me. Or Gabriella. She would definitely be trying to kill me, and I had a vision of her creeping up my hallway right then, knife at the ready, hands itching to creep around my throat.

I looked down at the sword in my hands and was thankful I looked in closets for things. I mean, at least I had some sort of protection. I wondered if other houses had any weapons in them.

I bit my lip, chewing it thoughtfully as I deliberated. Would it be worth the chance of running from house to house around here and looking for weapons? Or was it simple lucky chance that this house had a sword and that it was the only weapon for this precinct of houses? And I had already been in here for a few hours after the cannon fires, so who knew how close any other Tributes were. I ended up shrugging and deciding to stay in this house, as I had already set up camp in here, and, well, come on. I had a _sword_.

I didn't know what time night fell, as all the clocks I could find in this house had stopped at 5.14, am or pm I didn't know, though there were two crazy devices that I presumed from their shape were clocks I found that read 17.14, whatever that meant. But one moment I was sitting on the floor of the bedroom, knees raised and feet planted on the ground, awkwardly scraping the carpet on the floor with the point of the sword as I hummed and sat in a small patch of sunlight, and the next time I looked out the little window birds had landed on the powerlines and the sky was gradually turning to a dusky orange.

Scrambling to my feet I abandoned the sword to jog clumsily down the hall and to the sitting room where I first came into this house. I knelt by the window and shoved the ragged curtains out of the way to get a clear view of the sky, watching the abyss darken above me. This sunset was ugly; as ugly as the one I saw in the Capitol, maybe even uglier because, this time, there was no warm weight next to me and a voice singing the Everdeen family songs. This sky was hideous, a powdery pallet no matter what colour it was, and it could almost taste polluted. Even as the orange threw the west side of the sky into flames, it sickened me. There was just a fake hue to it that could never match a true sunset, and as much as the Capitol tried, I doubt they'd ever get it right. You can't match the raw beauty of nature when you're destroying it at the same time.

I was still grumbling when the first blares of the Capitol anthem ricocheted off the streets and houses, making me flinch and peer more earnestly up at the sky, which was now a royal blue, the east studded with the first few silvery pinpoints of stars while the west was still glimmering with the last throws of orange. My heart thudded as I craned my neck to see the Capitol seal fully, and I ended up with my cheek and a hand pressed against the cool glass of the window, back bowed awkwardly with my other hand scrabbling at the windowsill to see the sky clearly without going outside. I guess I could've gone out on to the front lawn, but I'd felt vulnerable even suggesting the idea to myself.

The seal disappeared, and the sky was momentarily dark and I was blinking spots out of my vision with the sudden loss of the glaringly blue symbol. Then the first person to appear is the girl I was still wearing despite my efforts; District Three's female. That meant both Tributes from Districts One and Two had gotten through. Grinding my teeth I hoped that insane Tribute from District Four had been killed, but my hopes were dashed the next second when the next picture to show was of Jerome Berhich of District Five, shortly followed by his female counterpart. Next came both Tributes from Six, which meant there was only two dead children left to reveal.

My breath stuttered next and I felt a swooping in my gut as Gabriella's eyes glared down at me from the sky, menacing and flat as they looked at the camera. And she was gone; I'd never see her or her dark eyes or greasy hair or pointed chin or sharp eyebrows ever again. I swallowed thickly as I realised I'd never even said anything to her last time I saw her in person. But... I had no place to feel guilty, right? I mean, we weren't friends, weren't even acquaintances, really. The bubbling, hot feeling in my stomach was from the shock of the death of someone I knew, and that's all.

That's all.

The girl from District Nine's face showed up next, blond hair spilling over her shoulders and then she was gone, too. The sky darkened and I sat back on to my heels, wiping a hand over my face. I walked back up to the bedroom and curled up in my greatcoat on the sparsely-carpeted floor next to the bed, impossibly tired at what I guessed was maybe 6.45 in the evening. Pathetic.

I pulled my flatbread and poncho towards me, tucking the poncho underneath my head as the worst pillow ever. After a week of sleeping on the world's finest, it was just a tad uncomfortable, but I would have to manage as I wasn't taking my coat off. The temperature had dropped now the sun was fully gone, and I hadn't realised how scary the dark was until now.

I rolled on to my side, my back facing the bed and the sword, and I made sure I had a clear view of the doorway and the mirror at the hall. I convinced myself that I would wake up when someone entered the house, but, surely no one would. No one would be rude enough to traipse over my sanctuary when I was so incredibly tired.

Ah, well, I've been wrong before.


	12. Room To Grow

**A/N. Hi, again, all. First off, thank you for reading this far, I appreciate it so much! Thanks to the people who have reviewed, it's very helpful and nice to hear from readers. Thanks again to my awesome sister and Betas, and now, to the point of this note, is to say that the song Jonathan sings this time is one of my personal favorites and, again, seemed to me like an Everdeen-y song for Jonathan to sing. In case you don't know it from the lyrics, it is _Drops of Juptier_ by Train.**

**Enjoy the new chapter, guys :) Thanks again. Love you all!**

"Timmy! Timmy, look!" My eyes snapped open as a harsh female voice echoed down the hall. I laid motionless and silent, absurdly still blinking sleepily, and the voice came again. They weren't even whispering. No points for effort. "Timmy! Here, check out these curtains! Someone's chopped 'em!"

"Shut _up_ Estelle! What if they're still here? God_damn_ you!" A male's voice snapped in a harsh undertone now, though he made his own words redundant when heavy footfalls worked their way around what sounded like the living room. I sat up slowly, heart starting to pound as I watched the mirror with wide-eyes, grabbing my poncho and bread clumsily.

"But Timmy! It's not like they can get out anyway!" I swallowed and rolled forward onto a crouching position as what I presumed was Estelle's voice rang down the hall. From the mirror I saw a thick pair of legs cross the hallway from the sitting room to the kitchen and then the sounds of cupboards being opened and closed quickly. I crept forward to the door of the room only to scramble silently backwards as a second person followed the first into the kitchen.

"What do you think the water is like here?" Timmy's voice echoed, and it seemed like he had taken Estelle's words to heart as he totally wasn't even trying to keep his voice down any more. There was the sound of a squeaky tap turning and water rushing, stopping quickly, and I heard a snort of derision. "Can't drink that _neither_."

"At least it's not acid, or whatever was in those buildings in the city!" Estelle responded. "Katti was lucky her tongue didn't fall out it was that badly burnt! And her gums- _eugh!_"

"Yeah, it was pretty gross," Came Timmy's amenable reply.

Note to self; no drinking in the city. Yikes.

"It seems like the nicer the house, the more dangerous it is," Timmy continued.

My heart was pounding, and I was swearing a non-stop mantra through my head. I spun in a quick circle as I deliberated on what to do and my eyes landed on the bed. Harsh whispering came from the kitchen and I decided, for all my bravado yesterday about being able to take someone, I couldn't do it. I definitely didn't have the guts to just charge out there, sword in hand, and run them through. Not yet. Panicked and on the brink of frustrated, about-to-die tears, I looked around the room one last time.

And spied the window.

I sprang forward and put my handfuls down onto the chest of drawers to unlatch the window and swing it open. I bit my tongue callously and tasted blood as the window creaked sharply but shortly, and I sent a quick prayer to hope they hadn't heard. But as I paused to listen, I heard nothing. And silence was _not_ golden.

I took a step back to see the mirror and found two shadowy silhouettes standing at the opposite end of the hall in the reflection. One was pointing at the mirror and had their head turned to the other, presumably whispering. The second was nodding and then turned to walk silently to the sitting room, whilst the first began creeping towards the bedroom. Perfect.

I held my breath and finished opening the window in one sharp movement, the creak ripping into my heart as well as shredding the silence. Then I dodged away to put my back to the wall with the door on my left, waiting with baited breath for the shadowy figure to come in.

I almost had a heart-attack when that insane boy from District Four pretty much sauntered through the peeling doorway, and I presumed that it was Timmy. I was literally so far pressed against the wall that my shoulder blades were squashed and I was standing on my toes, and I guess it must have worked as he didn't seem to see me. And the camouflage lady said I sucked, too. If only she could see me now.

Timmy's eyes flashed over the cupboard, the window and the bed, and then dropped to what I'd left on the floor. Because, of course, I'd left my _fricken sword on the ground_.

So, Plan A was screwed.

Timmy's eyes flashed as he hurried forward to seize up the prize just there on the ground, dropping the backpack he had slung over one shoulder, and as I watched, he straightened up, admiring it with his back to me, and he even had the gall to _laugh_. Estelle was nowhere to be seen (or heard) and, well, the opportunity was perfect, as Timmy was mesmerised with the sword, holding it at eye-level and, for some strange reason, smelling it. I knew this kid was insane, but just as to _how _insane was revealed to me when I realised he was smelling the place where the blood from the cut on my hand, _my_ blood, had stained the blade. Talk about unhygienic.

Biting my lip and clenching my hands into fists, I took two long strides forward until I was behind him, within a suitable distance. I took a deep breath in, which was not a good idea, as I saw Timmy physically stiffen as he heard my sniff, and I couldn't resist. I felt the smile tug at my lips, dragging my bottom lip to the side from where it was still tucked under my incisors, and I leant in and blew a stream of cold air onto the back of his neck and whispered "_Boo,_" before I lifted my right leg and slammed to flat of my boot onto the small of his back, sending him face first onto the mattress as he tried to turn and face me.

He didn't even yell as the mattress clamped shut, but the weight of what I had done crashed down onto me as I heard things crunch and shift in there, and the cannon fire proved my point, and I was so horrified I couldn't move for a moment. I heard Estelle call out and then she was headed in my direction, so I made myself move, grabbing Timmy's discarded backpack off the floor and running for the open window, not even looking in the _direction_ of Timmy's remains.

I don't know how I did it, to be honest. In the short distance of the bed to the window I succeeded in somehow pitching the backpack out of the window, astonished that it actually sailed out without a hitch. I managed to vault out then, taking a running leap with both hand planted on my possessions on top of the chest of drawers and kicking off the floor, using the momentum to swing my legs under me and out the window with my torso sailing after them, poncho and bread clasped in my hands. I, too, landed outside the house soundly, and I wobbled on my feet for a moment, in awe of what had just happened.

I had never done something so athletic in my _life_. Gold _star_, Isaac Alldrenn!

I took two seconds to unzip the pack and shove the poncho and breadcrumbs in there, then another two to close it again and heft in onto my shoulders, clipping it in place with the two small buckles across my chest and waist. Then I was off, sprinting around the side of the house and onto the road, not caring what direction I was going in, only that I was getting away from Estelle.

When I was about half way up the street she came barrelling out of the house, howling bloody murder. Which I guess she just witnessed, but anyway. I didn't turn around or acknowledge her in any way except maybe running a little faster, but I don't think she started chasing me. After about ten minutes of running, I realised I had entered the city outskirts again, and though I didn't think it was the greatest plan ever, I decided to roll with it. Everything I had planned thus far had failed utterly, so a little improvisation might do me good.

I spied a tiny little side-alley behind a tall apartment building and an empty restaurant complex and jogged down there, slowing to a walk and scanning my surroundings frantically. I didn't know how close I was to the centre but it was making me nervous. I wasn't at all tired any more, though my feet were feeling tender and my thighs were burning after the run. I crept down the alley and decided to check what was in my pack while I was seemingly safe.

I squatted down behind some garbage cans to hide from plain sight in case anyone came by, and almost gagged on the stench. Like, ew, c'mon Capitol people, lift your game, this is disgusting.

Man, a week in the Capitol _did_ make me snobby, didn't it?

I unzipped the pack and looked inside, hopeful. Rummaging around I found three medium-sized cans of preserved food, two packets of dried fruit and a one litre bottle of water, which made me cheer internally and take a short drink. There was also a torch, what I presumed was a compass, though I had never seen one close up before, a length of flimsy rope and the most crap-tacular dagger I had ever seen in my life. It was small, probably only about eight inches long including the handle, and looked only a little bit sharper than your average knife. I sneered at it as I put it back into the bag, standing up and stretching my achy legs as I did so.

I sighed, and slung the backpack over my shoulder, the unfamiliar weight making me stumble into one of the trash cans. I couldn't stop the curse blurting out of my mouth nor the sound of harsh metal clanging on asphalt. I practically flew to the wall and pressed flat against it, digging quickly through the bag and withdrawing the knife as I waited. My injured hand throbbed as I strained it, and I hissed slightly as I waited for someone to show up.

No one came, and after about two minutes I slowly peeled myself off the wall to go toe through the trash can. And then, because apparently I'm a god and the fates smile upon me, I found a dagger in the trash. Yes, an honest-to-goodness _dagger_ under a banana peel and an empty tin can that still was dripping brown-ish fluid.

This was so much better quality than the crap-stick in my hand, though I kept them both, putting the dodgy one back into my bag and sliding the new one through my belt. Which was a bad idea as it was a little long, but I had the sense to remove it before it split open my thigh when I raised my leg too high by, y'know, _walking_. I ended up putting it securely in the little button-up side pocket of my backpack, which was just the right size. Bonus.

I couldn't believe my good luck. First I had found a _sword_ (then lost it, but that's not the point) and then, by complete accident, I had found another weapon. And both in the most random of places. That got me thinking; what if that was where all the good weapons were? I mean, all the weapons at the Cornucopia were _ridiculous_- I mean, the knife in my pack proved it. But maybe they were ruses- the dagger I had proved that there were better weapons out there, so there must be others. They were just hidden. And I bet I could find them.

A faint scream echoed then, and I'm sure it's source was nowhere near me. It was followed shortly by a cannon fire, causing a grimace to appear on my face. I had to go. I was too nervous to stay in the city.

I managed to make it back out into suburbia by sunrise. I had encountered no one else, but by the time I had reached the waist-high grass field between two houses I was now struggling through, the cannon had fired once more. That was three dead today already, and the sun was just rising.

There was dew on the grass and it was soaking through my pants and coat, making them heavy and uncomfortable. I ended up shuffling my jacket off and continuing wading through the grass while holding it above my head. The same could not be said for my pants (though I don't doubt there'd be many complaints to me taking them off), and by the time I'd reached the other side of the field (_and _noticed the gravel, grass-free path running adjacent to me about ten metres to my left) I was soaked from my thighs to my toes.

I took a moment then to congratulate myself. I had made it to day two of the Hunger Games with only a cut-up hand. I took a deep breath in of sweet, grass-scented air and smiled at the sky. Here on this side of the grass there was another bitumen street with ugly houses down them. I glanced around with narrowed eyes, but not even a curtain twitched and I could only hear the sound of the grass rustling in the breeze behind me. Said breeze was making my wet legs very cold, too, so I resumed walking to find some shelter, tucking my coat between my bag and my back to free my arms.

I needed to think of a plan of attack. Focus on staying alive, or find other Tributes? My stomach felt queasy at the thought of the latter, and I swallowed thickly, trying to decide if it was necessary or not. I turned up another road joining the one I was already on and started ascending up a short hill, watching left and right for any signs of movement. I chewed thoughtfully on my bottom lip as I processed the idea of allies. Truthfully, I didn't want to make any alliances, because inevitably they'd die or attempt to kill me and that just wouldn't be cool and I didn't really want to go through that. And I admitted that I had already made a few too strong connections in the past week, and I couldn't imagine being with those people in a dependant coalition here when so much was at stake.

I wondered what Marhkuhs with two h's and a k was doing right now. Maybe he was one of the cannon fires I had heard this morning, and I didn't know whether to hope that was true or not. I munched on some dried fruit as continued slowly up to hill. Damn this hill was steeper than I thought it would be. Should I hope that Marhkuhs was dead? I mean, what kind of 'acquaintance' was I if I thought that? The apple pieces tasted funny too. At a closer examination of the packet I found out that they were 40% apple _flavouring_. How hard was it to just dry apples these days? Maybe Marhkuhs was around here. Maybe he had seen me and was creeping up, acquaintance or no, long arms ready to break my neck. I think I was getting a runny nose. Damn, it'd be just my luck for all my good fortune to run out and I'd have to go on for the rest of the Hunger Games with hay fever. I hadn't looked behind me in a while. On one of the training days Jonathan had said my neck was too slender for a boy's neck, probably very easy to break-

Something moved in my peripheral vision, and I had my good knife out of my pack faster than I ever could have hoped, spinning quick and pitching it, adrenaline fuelling my throw. My breathing was harsh and scared as I took in the feral cat hissing at my poor aim as the dagger clattered on the asphalt awkwardly far off from its target before darting off under a house a little to my left.

I scrambled to pick my knife up, grazing my fingers on the rough ground, almost falling but balancing myself and spinning in a circle, eyes darting around restlessly but not really _seeing_ anything. I swore someone was here, I had _felt _someone watching me, _felt_ their breath on the back of my neck, _felt_ their fingers reaching for me-

My own breath was now coming out in short, sharp gasps and I staggered to the side of the road, dropping my knife with a second clatter of metal on cement and collapsing down onto the curb. I put my head in my hands and attempted to calm down but I couldn't. I felt prickling in my eyes and managed to keep the tears at bay but I could feel my nose running, and I didn't have anything to wipe it on as my coat was slung between my back and my pack. I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched at my hair, grounding myself with the pain it brought me as I tugged on handfuls of black curls. I pressed my knees together and angled the heels of my feet out and my toes in so the tendons in my ankles were straining, and clenched my stomach beneath my tight shirt. I focussed on my body's reactions, using my sense of feeling to calm myself down, letting the straining muscles and the tugging sensation on my scalp become the only thing I thought about as I tried to overcome the sudden panic attack.

After two minutes I felt I could open my eyes, but a quick glimpse of the blood still staining the whole right side of my pants compelled me to wait a few more minutes before trying again. And when I did crack them open a second time, I angled my head to the sky and took deep breaths in before slowly raising my eyelids. I pressed the thumb of my right hand into the cut on my left palm, hissing in pain at the vast blue plain above me. The pain was good though, and after another few lungfuls of air I was able to look straight ahead again.

Only to have _another_ heart attack.

"Good morning!" Jonathan chirped from where he was sitting cross-legged about two metres in front of me on the road. I jumped and skidded a few more metres away from him, clutching my chest in fright. "Quite a spectacle you were showing before," He continued, smiling happily at me. I remained speechless and gazed at him wide-eyed until the smile fell from his face and his eyebrows creased in confusion. "Isaac?" He prompted, but I paid his words no attention as I searched his hands and body for weapons.

"Dude?" He stood up and moved closer to me, and though I didn't move from where I was sitting I did cringe away, so he stopped his approach, empty hands outstretched. I took in a shaky breath and sniffed loudly, clenching my jaw. Right. Get back in the game, Isaac. You're not scared.

"Hey, man," I finally greeted, albeit croakily, and he relaxed a little, kneeling down in front of me. His eyes were a little paler than the sky today, a pretty shade of blue-grey, but he had blood splattered down the side of his neck and coat. He had no pack or weapons I could see, but I saw his hands in a new light and determined that he could definitely kill someone with those. "Fancy seeing you here."

It was a weak joke, but he smiled all the same. "Fancy that," he answered softly with a warm glimmer in his eyes. Then there was an awkward silence where we just stared at each other. I was marvelling at the fact that out of the fourteen remaining Tributes, he had been the one to find me. I had no clue what he was thinking, but it made me uncomfortable, this ambiguity. I swallowed thickly and it seemed to jolt him back to reality. His eyes flickered to my neck as it bobbed and then he turned away, smiling, and started humming a tune loud enough that I caught some words. "_Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star,_" he crooned happily, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear, so I remained quiet, but I felt my shoulders relaxing. It was with surprise that I found myself noting that this was... nice. The weather wasn't cold but it wasn't hot, and the sun was shining over the top of the low buildings here. I knew I shouldn't have been letting down my guard but Jonathan had moved over to where he had been sitting on the road just before and nodded his head along to the tune nobody could hear but him. The only thing uncomfortable was my heavy pants and the dark thoughts I had banished to the recesses of my mind. "_One without a permanent scar, and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself,_" he looked at me then, a brilliant grin lighting up his face, and I instantly smiled back. It was an impulse, almost instinctual. It was impossible, when someone looked at you like he had just beamed at me, not to smile back. "_Out there?_" I realised he had finished his _stanza_ and was now singing the rest of the song quietly.

I sat forward and coughed, bringing my backpack round to seat it in my lap and taking a small sip of water from where the container was kept in the side pocket. I knew I shouldn't eat my food since I had eaten some dried apple before, though my stomach was still crying out that it was hungry. Some meat would've been nice but I wasn't game to hunt feral cats and skin them and eat them _just_ yet, so tough bikkies, tummy. "_But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day and head back to the Milky Way?_" Jonathan was still singing happily as he sat across from me again, and when he caught my eye he smiled widely at me, showing perfect teeth, and continued. I sat there, lost in the moment, enjoying the song. "_But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated?_"

I wanted to close my eyes and enjoy his voice, lilting and golden in the warm sunlight, but I couldn't forget where I was, so I only felt an increasing impression of sadness creeping up and fought tooth and nail to keep it away, though I knew the inevitable was coming. I sighed and looked at Jonathan as I felt on a whim that the song was coming to an end. His smile dimmed a little but was still warm as he sang the last chords to the air, cheeks only reddening slightly, head ducking minimally.

"_And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?_"

He closed his mouth after, pressing his lips together as a futile effort to restrain the proud smile I knew wanted to burst out as he looked at me sheepishly. I felt an ache in my gut as I gazed at him. I wanted to know Jonathan. I wanted to know how old he was, his favourite colour, his birthday, his favourite song and why music meant so much to him and his family. Who had taught him to sing? Why was he singing so near to his apocalypse, so near to the deaths falling around him? How could he be smiling when someone could come across and slit both our throats? There was no one for him here that deserved that smile.

"My mother loves that song," Jonathan said to me. "She used to sing it to me when I was sick." I nodded and licked my lips nervously. My prediction had come true and they had chafed, so I pressed them together and began nibbling on the inside of my cheek instead. There was a pregnant pause, and then Jonathan laughed, leaning back on the heels of his palms. I marvelled at his ability to laugh. How full of hope and love and laughter he was. Maybe he was just a great actor. He opened his mouth and I knew he was going to ask me to be his ally, and I panicked.

"Why that song?" I blurted out. He stopped mid syllable of the first word and looked taken aback, blinking at my interruption. I kept my eyes fixed on a point just above his right shoulder, staring at nothing while nibbling incessantly at the inside of my cheek.

"Why what?" He breathed in a small amount of laughter, snorting at the obscurity of my question.

"Why that song?" I prompted, still avoiding his eyes by sweeping my gaze across the arches of his cheekbones. "It sounded like it was about space or something. Why would she sing that to you if you were sick?"

"Oh," He smiled, tilting his head a little to the side to consider the answer. "I guess because it's, you know, it's not actually about _space_. It's about a girl who goes out into the world and finds all the things she's been looking for and more." I nodded, though I didn't completely understand. "Mamma used to sing it to me because I used to always chatter about going out and finding bigger and better things out there, and that song would make me feel better. Ah," He looked down to his lap from where he'd been trying to catch my eye, and scratched the back of his head. "I guess I used to dream big."

"At least you planned ahead," I said helpfully, trying to ease his embarrassment, my heart warming.

"Right," He agreed, and looked up. This time our eyes met and I contemplated the idea of a younger Jonathan, probably malnourished, definitely skinny with ribs showing, all elbows and knees, curled up with my imagined Mrs Everdeen as she crooned away to him, trying to get him to dream of better places. That his life began but didn't have to end in District Twelve, where I'd heard the coal was so ingrained into the workers that their fingertips were never clean but always remained a stained shade of grey, and that they had coaldust so deep under their fingernails they never got clean.

And I guess Jonathan did get out to see a different portion of the world; he got to experience the Capitol and its splendour and got to meet new people who weren't dusty-skinned miners. I wondered if Mrs Everdeen was watching now and remembering a scrawny little Jonathan with fever-flushed cheeks and a tickling cough cuddling up to her and imploring with big grey eyes for her to sing to him because he was sick.

"So do I really have to ask you, man?" He startled me out of my thoughts, and there was now a mischievous, cocky grin on his face. I knew what he was talking about, but I was in no rush for this conversation to move at a faster pace, so I let my head tilt to the side but offered no other incentive for him. "I mean, I searched long enough for you, you're the one who should be asking me."

"Fine, you princess," He rolled his eyes after I didn't say anything, but I scoffed at the nickname. He chuckled at my apparent hurt from his insult and continued. "Allies?" he held out a hand sarcastically, meaning for me to take it and be done, but I couldn't. I just stared at his palm, and then, after a painful wait, I dragged my eyes back to his. He wasn't confident or happy any more, but confused, and his eyebrows were creased in hurt and surprise. I swallowed and fidgeted. His eyes were almost opalescent now, and under the inky blots of his eyelashes they were perplexed and cheerless, as though I had sucked all the happiness out of him and I hadn't even said a word.

"I can't," I answered his look hoarsely, breaking the silence, and I couldn't look him in the eyes any longer so my gaze moved to stare at his broad, powerful hand still hovering in the air. I traced its movements as it dropped back to land on his thigh, and then steeled myself. I had known him a week. I didn't owe him any explanation.

And then I looked into his face and ate my words.

"You saw that, didn't you?" I gestured to where I was sitting, indicating to my panic attack. "What's to stop that happening again? That was because I was paranoid on my own. Imagine how worse I'd be with _you_ around? I wouldn't be able to concentrate!" I took a wild breath in to see Jonathan's jaw clicking and his hands clenched in the folds of his coat. His eyebrows sank lower at my words, but I continued, trying to justify the rejection brimming in his clear eyes. "I would be a horrible ally, anyway. You don't need me; you need someone who can watch your back. I mean, I didn't even see you till you fricken' appeared out of thin air after I had come down from my attack, and I don't even know why you didn't kill me, as pathetic as I am-" I clutched at my hair in a way to tell myself to shut up. I let my eyes covey my message, pleading at him to just _go_, not because I didn't need him but because he didn't need me, and I didn't want to get him killed. We were much more noticeable as a pair.

"Alright," He stood up stiffly, and I watched him, feeling stricken, as he adjusted his coat and buttoned it up. "I get it," But he didn't, he really didn't. The air felt colder though I knew that was impossible, and I suddenly felt the need to do something for him. He couldn't just leave.

"Here," I scrambled around and rifled through my bag, getting a can of preserved food and a packet of dried fruit out and shoving them into his hands. He grappled with the unexpected gifts, our fingers getting tangled, until he wrenched away from me and turned, facing his back to me. I pulled on my hair, and then, in a flash-decision, I got out my knife. My good one. "This too," I said quietly, holding the blade so he could grasp the hilt when he turned back to me.

When he did lift the dagger from my injured hand, I almost expected to be killed right then. But the anger was gone from his eyes as he stared at the silver blade and said uncertainly, "Isaac, I can't take this,"

"Pfft," I attempted to laugh, to joke, but my eyes were too wide and my voice was too high. "You saw me at the knife section of Training. What a loser, right?"

He surprised me by smiling softly, but I still knew he was going to be lonely. "Right," He agreed, and then he was unbuckling his coat again, some of the pockets of which were bulging from where he had stuffed in the food. It was my turn to be confused until I saw him put his hands on his waist and start unthreading the whip that was coiled through his belt loops. "Happy birthday," he joked quietly, and I couldn't help the wry smile pull at the corners of my mouth.

"Thanks, but my birthday's in April," I answered, and he narrowed his eyes playfully back.

"Well, take it as a belated gift," He answered back. After a beat, he looked to his feet, still holding out the whip. "Are you sure?" His voice was small, and I knew he'd still take me if I changed my mind. But I couldn't handle the co-dependency of an alliance, no matter how close I was to him. It wouldn't be this hard saying no to anyone but Jonathan, but I had to, or I'd go crazy with paranoia and kill him in his sleep or something, and I wasn't in that deep yet. I felt the weight of my answer as plainly as I felt the weight of the whip as I also put my hands on it. He didn't let go, though, and I felt the warmth of his hand radiating heat on to mine.

"I'm sorry," Was all I could say, and he passed on the whip to me fully, hand dropping to his side. He sighed and did up his coat, pulling the sleeves over his hands completely after he was finished. "I guess," I started, and _I'll see you_ was right on the edge of my tongue, but it would have been idiotic to say those words. "It's goodbye then," I finished awkwardly, stumbling over the words, and he raised his head to look me in the eyes.

"I killed the girl from District Five," He told me in a low voice, and then I saw his eyes flitting between my own, like he was trying to see the disgust in them, the bone-deep stirring that should have been there, the want to get as far away from this murderer as possible.

But we all had our demons, and I shifted my weight off of my right foot, remembering the feel of it as it slammed into District Four boy's back. Timmy. I even knew his name. I sympathised with Jonathan, and I saw the disbelieving happiness in him when I didn't turn and run.

"I got the boy from Four," I admitted in return, and it felt like it should have seemed odd that his shoulders sagged in relief, but it wasn't.

His hand was on my shoulder, and I thought he was going to feel my heartbeat again, ground himself in the fact that this was happening but we were both still here. I was half right, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't flinch away when his palm slid towards my neck and two of his fingers landed just below my jaw. "Shh," he soothed me and replaced his fingers after I had jerked out of his grip. I didn't understand what was happening until I felt, miraculously, my pulse thrumming away under the pads of his pointer and middle finger. My eyes widened and he smiled at me. "Anatomy, huh," He joked and then he was stepping away from me and looking at the ground, mouth forming a line. I took this as a final cue to leave, and I didn't know what to say, so I just backed off and left him alone in the street, walking away with my whip and my backpack and just myself.

_And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?_

I would have loved some company.


	13. The Curtains Deserved It

There were no more deaths that day, and that night I saw the faces of Katti Meow-Meow from District One, Timmy from Four and Gerrard Powers from Nine, who had been one of my rivals for cutest Tribute, in the sky. Gerrard looked to be fourteen, with blond curly hair, bowed lips and dark eyes. I thought he looked much cuter than I did, but who was I to know?

I was squatting in a cottage-type home right on the outskirts of the city, having doubled-back after my morning with Jonathan. I had reached the house just when the sun was kissing the horizon after a long day of walking winding streets and garbage-filled alleys for hours, practicing the motions for my whip but not having the guts to crack it since someone may have heard me.

The whip was rather excellent. It had tassels at the tip which I knew from experience could crack through skin, and was just the right length for me to adjust to. It was proper leather and the grip I was holding had treads and dimples in it to make it easier to keep a hold of. I couldn't have found a better whip, and to make it greater, on top of it all, Jonathan had given it to me.

I fell asleep curled behind the ratty sofa in the late hours of the night, blanketed tightly in my greatcoat with my head pillowed on my backpack. The couch was only about one and a half metres away from the wall and I could squeeze in comfortably with the vantage of being invisible to anyone who didn't directly poke their heads over the top of the couch. I had eaten a few more handfuls of gross, stale breadcrumbs and finished the dreadful packet of dried apples before taking a short drink from my bottle, and then curling up in a ball with my back pressed against the wall, whip clutched tightly in my right hand.

I dreamt of Jonathan finding me and smiling and laughing before he started cutting just tiny, small incisions all over my body, all the while singing. I couldn't fight back, feeling like my wrists, ankles and neck were locked onto the floor, and he asked me if I had sailed across the sun as blood started weeping from the thousand wounds on my body, and I cried out when he dug a little deeper as he slid the knife I had given him into my cheek. Tears were streaming down my face, the salt in them stinging the shallow cuts across my temples, and he asked me if I made it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven was overrated. I begged him to stop as the burning, painful feeling was all over me and my vision was beginning to blur ever-so-slightly around the edges, but he just smiled down at my sobbing and brushed the hair off my already bloody forehead to add another score to my skin. After I thought there was no where left to cut he smiled softly again, and traced his fingers over my lips, brushing them softly, tracing them with his thumb before cupping my jaw in his powerful, rough hand to keep it still as I tried to twist away, and then placing the tip of the cold sharp steel on the corner of my mouth and telling me sweetly that he's about to hack both of my lips off, and digging the tip of his dagger in.

I woke in cold sweat, coiled tightly around myself, pressed against the wall. Yawning, I banished the dream from my mind and sighed, sitting up slowly. Something popped in my knee when I stretched out my leg, and I rolled my shoulders a few times before peeking up over the top of the couch, cracking my neck from side to side as I did so. No one was there, so I spent the next few hours puttering around the house, examining cupboards and drawers carefully and avoiding anything that could be even remotely dangerous. _It seems like the nicer the house, the more dangerous it is_, Timmy from District Four had said, and I was cautious down to where I placed my feet. This house was nicer and cleaner than the one I had killed Timmy in, so I was moving on my toes, feeling like I was walking on eggshells.

The water in the bright, open kitchen was clear when I turned on the tap, but I pressed my lips together and didn't refill my bottle as I also remembered Estelle saying something about acid water before. The bed I avoided completely, arcing around it in a wide circle as I checked the bedside cabinets, which had nothing of practical use to me in them. The wardrobe had some outlandish clothes in it that felt crappy quality to my touch, though I did steal a thin scarf down off the shelf and stuffed it into my backpack just in case. The cottage had two floors, and upstairs I found another bedroom which, other than having a window seat and an attachable mirror that I stole to put downstairs somewhere, was pointless. There was an ensuite to the upstairs bedroom which had way too many possibilities of traps so I took one look and didn't even enter.

In the cupboard under the stairs I found the house's pantry, which seemed to be chock-full of ready-to-eat perishable foods such as breads and fruits and delicacies. I also found packets of flour, sugar, salt, food dye and sauces, but I took nothing, only touching things to move them out of the way in my search. This was too easy, and when I inspected the floor I saw a dead mouse, which was point enough to me that the food was poisoned. I mean, sure, the mouse could have died of natural causes but I wanted to be safe rather than sorry.

I found nothing useful in the whole house; no weapons, or food I was game to eat or water I was game to drink. This day had been quiet, and by sun down I felt I had learnt the ropes of the cottage and knew what to avoid and what I could touch. I had balanced the mirror on the corner of the wall between the living room and kitchen to reflect the back door to the house so I could see if anyone entered, though I avoided looking at my own reflection as much as I could so I wouldn't have to see the miniscule specks of blood dotting my face _still_ that, no matter how much I scratched, would not come off, and whatever weight I had gained in my week at the Capitol floating off as the curve of my cheek became more and more haggard. No faces lit up the sky that evening, and I spent another night curled up behind the couch, wrapped in my coat and my new scarf as the temperature dropped substantially enough to make my teeth chatter after eating a small meal of half a tin of tomatoes (yuck) that left my stomach crying for more.

In this dream, the Raintree Twins were pulling on both my hands, tugging me towards the city centre. They both looked terrified as they cried for me to run faster, faster, keep moving or I would die and they would die with me. I started running, stumbling because they were faster than me and pulling on my arms too much. I was confused and I didn't know what was going on, but the Twins seemed terrified enough for me to move faster and I hauled my arms from their grip and ran on my own.

Together our feet flew across the bitumen as their terror caught on to my own and my heart felt heavy and too big, weighed down with dread, fear seeping into my veins and making my blood run cold. The sky above us was dark, but the apartment buildings alongside the road we were running on all had their windows lit up, and I felt like the windows were the million eyes of the people watching us on the television.

When we finally reached the centre, I had to double-over to catch my breath, leaning on to the cold, ornate surface of the Cornucopia. My heart was thundering so much I was surprised it didn't beat out of my chest and the blood was rushing in my ears so loudly I missed the Twins calling my name until Rhododendron physically grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

"Isaac! We have to climb!" His face was sweaty and dirty and he looked so young that my gut swooped in pity and angst. Rhododendron pointed to the Cornucopia where Honeysuckle was already grabbing hold of the carvings on the side and starting to ascend.

I nodded to him, still breathless, and we both started to climb. I still had no idea what we were running from but from the Twins faces I could tell it was close and brutal. The climb was hard because even without my shaking fingers and wobbly legs it was difficult to find perches and handholds, and I was still only halfway up when Honeysuckle screamed long and loud from where she was already perched atop the golden horn, jolting me out of my concentration. My foot slipped and I hit my knee painfully against the hard metal but I still managed to look up at her. She was pointing to the road we had just left and sobbing, her long hair whipping around her face in knots as she wailed and cowered. Rhododendron was there beside her, and I took a nanosecond to wonder how in hell he got up there so quickly. I dismissed the thought and stopped climbing to turn and look in the direction Honeysuckle had been pointing, and if I hadn't been panting so hard I would have gasped and screamed myself.

It was essentially a giant, scabby-furred, grey-blue cat that was bigger than I was and had one huge, red eye set in the middle of its face. There was a giant, wet, pink nose on the end of its muzzle that was cut and bleeding, and its mouth was open to reveal a huge, lolling tongue that spread drool all over the ground and teeth as big as Honeysuckle and as sharp as a needle. The cat-thing was prowling forward on toes that had claws out and extended: curved like moons and filed to a point where they, impossibly, clawed through the cement road. Its fur was matted and knotted with scars and dried blood in places, and one of its ears was missing a half and still bleeding.

I whimpered and hung, frozen with terror, on the side of the Cornucopia like a bug. The thing noticed me straight off and bounded forward, and I had time to unfreeze and draw the sword from its scabbard at my waist clumsily with one hand before it was next to me and I felt its stinking, rotting breath ruffle my hair and cause my throat to tighten and threaten to dry-heave.

I tried not to breathe, but a plan formed in my mind to stab this thing in the eye. That's what the hero in the story always did; attacked the eye of the Cyclopes beast and then escape or finish the job while it was occupied with the pain, maybe win over the love of their beloved at the end of the legend.

In one quick movement I brought up the sword, but before I could bring the point of the sword to the dark, abysmal, vertical pupil tracking my movements, the cat fricken' _grinned_, tongue sprawling from its mouth, and batted me off the side of the horn before I could do anything proactive.

I landed hard on my back, sword clattering out of my grip, head hitting the pavement hard, gasping like a fish out of water as the Twins howled and cried from the Cornucopia. I rolled on to my stomach, blood running from my mouth, and started crawling away, towards the closest apartment building. I was still winded and dizzy but my survival instincts kicked in enough to drag myself by my elbows off the road and on to the nature strip.

A blinding pain stabbed through the back of my calf and I cried out a burbling scream, splattering blood all over the pavement before me as it spat out of my mouth. Turning my head, I saw one half-moon claw piercing straight through my left calf, and I was paralysed by the pain. Drool from the mutt's open mouth slopped onto my thighs from where it was leaning over to me and it was hot and wet and soaked straight through my clothes as if they were nothing and soon I felt the wetness seeping into my skin. I knew that if I moved my leg the pain would be blinding, but if I stayed where I was the minimalistic chance at maybe surviving would deplete to zero.

Sobbing, I wrenched my leg to the side in one quick movement and that was possibly the stupidest thing I had ever done. Muscle, sinew and skin all tore in a jagged, diagonal line straight from just right of my tibia all the way to the side where my leg was free but big whoop; I couldn't move an inch after that. I screamed loudly and rolled over on to my back, clutching my mangled leg that was slippery with the blood that was pouring from my wound.

Being on my back was a bad idea as the blood in my mouth started to choke me but instead of rolling on to my side I just senselessly spat the blood over my face where it ran its course and then started to dried in a parody of a circle around my mouth. My hands were clutching my leg in the sense that they were protecting it from god knows what since they were causing more pain but I couldn't stop; I kept scrabbling at the wound, my thigh pressed to my chest as I bent my leg to hold it.

The mutt- I had somehow, in the cloud of pain, forgotten about the mutt- hissed in pleasure, reminding me that there was, indeed, more in store for me. Opening my eyes I saw only a white haze clouding my vision which was result from the jolt on my head and the added trauma. I blinked rapidly to clear my eyesight of the fog and also tears to see the thing breathe in the scent of my blood and fear and proceed to drool more saliva over my stomach, where it landed heavily and slid off my waterproof shirt on to my coat underneath me.

My death didn't have sense of finality, as I'd always imagined it to have, when I was feeling self-pitying and guileless in the long hours of the night. I'd always thought the perpetrator would talk to me or smile or hesitate before delivering the final blow, whether to fight off their conscience or to revel in the moment, I'd never discerned one from the other. I was dying either way. But here, the mutt did not know anything but death: it did not hiss in satisfaction before biting my head off nor did it gaze for seconds as long as lifetimes at my broken and bleeding body to drink in the glory before it sank its claws into my ribcage. One moment I was simply gazing into the deep, murky black that was the cat's vertical pupil and the next I was screaming and hollering and feeling the claws tearing through my chest and breaking ribs and mangling guts and then I was gone.

I had just enough time after waking to run to the kitchen before I was vomiting up whatever was left in my stomach from the previous day. It was lucky for the other Tributes that no one was in the house or waiting for me to emerge or I would have vomited on them and made them smell of sick and stomach acid for the remainder of the Games, so the odds were in their favour today.

An hour later I determined that the vomiting had at least done one good thing: it made me not hungry until well past noon. Which, coincidentally, made me incredibly paranoid. I had already had a day of relative peace- why was nothing happening? Sure, it was still morning, but certainly something should be going down soon, since it should have already. My dream (which I remembered in high definition, hooray) was not helping- every noise I heard, whether it was a creaking floorboard or a leaf rustling, was something coming to kill me without a thought otherwise. I had never thought about how scary muttations were until I had woken up that morning- how terrifying it was to face something that wouldn't even hesitate to kill you, wouldn't even consider the choice of letting you live. At least with humans you could appeal to the spark of humanity in them, but with monsters, they didn't even speak your language, let alone think about choice.

I wondered what the Twins were up to. I hadn't really thought about the Raintree Twins since the Games had started, and I felt guilty. They were good kids, both of them. So full of love for one another that I didn't know how they could even pull a smile since the moment they were both selected for this event. That kind of dedication to another person, where your world revolves around them and you feel when they do, smile when they do, even move like they do; it's gorgeous. That kind of love could sustain a person; keep them whole until they die. Because they are, essentially, one half of a whole, not really living when the other is not around. They can only be complete when they are together.

Which is why the equation of the Raintree Twins plus the Hunger Games equals nothing but sorrow and heartache.

After what I deemed was midday, I huddled on the floor beside the arm of the couch, eyes flickering between the mirror showing the back door and the hall and the remainder of the house I could see. I was hell-bent on the idea that something was coming for me today since yesterday had been what I know Capitolites would have deemed 'quiet', and I unconsciously kept running my hands over my left calf as if trying to convince myself that it _was _actually a dream. I mean, I didn't even have a sword any more, but I was still trying to persuade myself this wasn't an afterlife that was some cruel trickster god's idea of a joke.

I finished off the bread while I sat there, and when I took another sip of water I shook the canteen, noting the level of liquid sloshing around in there was drastically low. It might last me another day and a half at most, but I didn't like my chances.

The day dragged on incredibly slowly, and I finished off my half-can of tomatoes with a disgusted face, and then I had nothing better to do so I curled up behind the couch and stared at the wall. There were no faces in the sky, again, and I was trembling with anticipation as I lay on my side and hugged my knees to my chest, willing myself to calm down enough to fall asleep. My whip was clutched in my hand and I felt like I stared at the wall for an hour before I finally felt tired enough to shut my eyes and sleep, not knowing what would happen in the dream or when I woke up.

I slipped unconscious to the vow that next time I saw a stray cat, I would kill it, no questions asked.

Something growled. I opened my eyes, to stare at the back of the couch in terror. What was it? I held my breath, trying to recount what the noise had sounded like. It was sort of a gurgle, maybe a little rumble, coming from very near me. I lay on my side, frozen in terror, as I waited for the thing to announce itself again.

And it did, by the way of my stomach growling in hunger a second time. I sighed at my own stupidity and hoped that the Capitol didn't notice my minor panic attack at my fearsome stomach. I sat up and decided I couldn't ignore the protests, so I opened my precious last can of some kind of tinned meat. It looked gross, but I scooped some out with two fingers, sniffing it (bad idea), before putting them into my mouth, a gobbet of greasy meat on the end.

It wasn't half bad, if you didn't have taste buds and no sense of smell.

I finished a third of the can before stowing it regretfully away in my pack (because no matter how disgusting it was, food was food) along with my scarf and slipping that on my back. Kneeling, I stretched and rolled out from behind the couch. I took a deep breath in and stood, popping both my knees and gazing around the room. I never realised how much I hated floral-patterned curtains until the Hunger Games, and I narrowed my eyes at the offending pieces of cloth hanging directly opposite me.

With a cheery crackle, the thin curtains I had been cursing burst into flames, causing me to leap backwards against the wall and bang my elbow against its hard surface. Smoke rose in swirling patterns from the material as the apparently flammable wall the window had been set in followed suit of the curtains and began to smoulder.

I don't know how long I moronically stood against the wall watching the front wall of the house deteriorate from a shade of olive green to flickering orange and yellow, but when I started breathing in more smoke than air I figured I should get out of there. Running out into the hall, I saw the front door, was behind a wall of fire. There goes plan A, and I should really just not make a plan A from now on. They always seem to fail.

Gripping my useless whip, I sprinted up the stairs as my last resort was the windows up there. I stumbled into the upstairs bedroom, coughing harshly and gagging on my scorching throat, and pushed the windows open. They swung outward without a sound, and I followed their direction. I leapt out of the cottage onto the shingled roof, slipping on the mossy tiles and falling heavily on to my hip. Grumbling, I stood up again and, walking as fast as I could manage on an awkward angle on the slanting roof, I hobbled of round the side of the house, coughing and looking for a way down.

My words from my Interview floated back to me. I had been brimful of confidence when I had yammered off to Emlyn that _there are always trees_ in the Hunger Games. Well, wise guy, where are they now?

There was no way down that I could see other than catapulting myself off the second story. Which would be stupid. And probably expected of me, but I really didn't want broken legs so I needed another approach. Looking around on my level of ground, the first thing I noticed was the smoke now gushing out of the window I had so recently stumbled out of, meaning the fire was spreading unnaturally fast through the house. The second thing I saw was a tree. Way, _way_ on the other side of the next house over. It looked pretty flimsy too, but it was my best hope.

I slipped once more on the mossy overlay on the roof on my way over to the next house, picking myself up with a few choice swear words and praying to whatever was out there that I wouldn't slip now. Because I had no time to decide on another option, and I was taking a running leap at the house over, sprinting towards the edge of the roof and feeling the tip of my right boot curl over the edge of the gutter and pushing off.

I miraculously sailed over the gap and I had the insane urge to flap my outspread arms like wings on a bird for effect. I knew I was about to make it until I reached about half way where my ascent reversed, and I started on the fall. My yell of euphoria turned into a drawn out curse word as I realised my landing wouldn't be as smooth as I hoped. I did make it to the other side, but awkwardly, my left boot grazing the gutter before breaking through the flimsy metal and causing my left knee to clatter into the hard tiles that covered the roof, shin slamming into broken gutter my boot had wrecked just seconds before.

Scrambling for a purchase as my right leg thudded into the wall beneath the roof; I got hold of the edge of a tile and prayed I wasn't strong enough to rip it off the surface of the roof. I managed to find another handhold for my other fingers and haul myself up, scrabbling with my right foot on the wall and feeling the broken metal bite further into the shin of my left leg just below the knee.

Taking a moment to breathe wasn't an option as the burning house was starting to collapse. I had no idea how the fire had spread so fast or how the foundations were already burnt through, but I stumbled to my feet anyway and jogged to the tree. Clambering down its thin, bendy branches was easier than I thought, and soon enough I had reached the ground and crouched beside the wall of the untouched house, fingers down my throat, trying to vomit up the smoke and pollution from my lungs. Nothing came up, which, in hindsight, was a good thing because that meant I'd get to keep my meagre breakfast down, and soon enough I was running away from yet another thing trying to kill me.

I jogged into the city, getting as far away from the pillar of smoke as I could, knowing it would be a giant signal to those hunting other Tributes. But I had my whip, so I felt that I could take maybe one and a half Tributes if they attacked me.

The thought of half a Tribute had me in a fit of nervous giggles and I ducked down an alleyway to get off the main road. What half would it be? Bottom half, top half? Left half, right half? My giggles were insane, and I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to stifle the sound. At the end of the alleyway I ducked sharply around a corner back on to a broader road, still hiccupping with laughter when I heard a voice call joyfully "What's so funny?"

I sputtered on my laughter and jumped backwards into a wall, knocking my head sharply on the vertical slab of cement and jamming my heel on the corner of the building and the sidewalk. A stream of gibberish fell from my mouth as I looked around for the source of the voice, looking left and right down the empty road. _Empty_ road.

I feared I had gone insane until the voice piped up, "Hey, buddy! Guess what's up?" and I tilted my head skywards to follow the familiar sound to see Marhkuhs (with two h's and a k) seemingly clinging to the wall out of sheer willpower seven storeys up in the air. "Me!" he answered his own question, laughing, and started, like, _scuttling_ down the wall, long legs finding purchase on the thinnest windowsills and cracks and fingers finding miniscule gaps to help him reach the ground in mere seconds.

I stood, mouth open and gaping, staring at him as he loomed over me. I never realised how tall he was until now, and I shrunk against the wall, completely overwhelmed, my whip hanging forgotten and useless by my side.

"Isaac," he smiled down at me and I whimpered. "Isaac, man," he repeated, not bothered at all by my cowering. He cupped the sides of my face in his huge hands and tapped my cheeks roughly with his palms. "Anyone in there, brother?" he laughed and hit me one last time until I shoved him off playfully, responding in kind at last. He, in answer, flicked my nose with his long fingers but took a step back, giving me breathing room.

I started laughing again. "You-" I was breathless as he chuckled with me. I glanced back up to the spot on the wall where he'd been clinging and I felt a smile break fully over my face. "You creeper!" I sniggered and that turned into full-blown laughter and I tilted my head back, mouth open, full body going into the sound ripping from my body. He joined me, his laugh rich and intoxicating, voice deep, and we couldn't stop until after several minutes. I didn't even know what was so funny, but I think my body was just releasing all the nerves and jitters into this one experience, and I felt so much better afterwards.

When we'd finally calmed down enough to wipe the tears of mirth from our eyes, I felt my smile waver as I started to _think_. I wish he'd never shown up, because, though I was happy he was alive as illogical as that feeling was, now he'd possibly want an alliance like Jonathan had and I couldn't give him that. If I couldn't bear the thought of being tied to Jonathan in any way, I was pretty damn sure I wasn't going to hang around with tall, powerful Marhkuhs for any set amount of time.

Or so I thought.

"Lemme see!" Marhkuhs's thick, impossibly long arms wound around my body and deftly stripped me of my backpack, and he squatted down, unperturbed and trusting, to look through it. I snorted and glanced left and right down the street, then down the alley I had just come up, before crouching beside him, snort turning into a cough that tickled my sore throat.

"You're very... carefree," I noted, and he just rolled his dark blue eyes at me and pulled up one side of his mouth to give me a quick, brotherly smile before turning back to the contents of my pack.

"I trust you, dude," He said simply, and I don't know whether it was the fact that he had no tact from living on the streets all his life or that he just felt that he could be so heart-bearing, gut-wrenchingly honest with me, but I felt a surge of compassion towards this guy. "Plus, someone already stabbed me," he added, taking a moment to push his coat out of the way and lifting up his tattered shirt to show me a healing wound in his side. It didn't look too deep but I still hissed through gritted teeth and grimaced in sympathy.

In a need to share, I showed him my grotty, torn hand with the slice down it, the bandage for which was lost sometime between last night and my arrival here. The cut was throbbing subtly so I only noticed it when I focussed, and I mumbled pitifully "I got a cut,"

He laughed gruffly and looked up at my face. "Who got you?"

Embarrassed, I avoided his eyes. "Me. I cut myself on a sword," I almost kicked him because he was laughing at me so much. "Shut up!" I tried to keep my mouth in a line but it was tugging at the corners and before long I was smiling again. "You jerk," I tried to hide the laughter in my voice, but he just raised his eyebrows at me and shook his head before continuing to rifle through my bag.

"You got another cut there," he gestured absently to my left leg, and when I investigated I saw my pants had ripped right through in a horizontal line along the stitching below my knee about two inches long, and I had a slash that was sluggishly bleeding down my shin. It must have come from where I'd hit the gutter on my little adventure before, the adrenaline masking the pain. Now that I saw it though the pain registered and I pouted at it.

"Ouchie," I prodded the gash, fingers sticking in the tacky, half-dried blood, but decided it didn't need to be bandaged, so I left it to fester as it willed. I mean, it was covered by my pants- that counted as a bandage, right? Marhkuhs just tsked at my sulking and zipped my bag up, handing it back to me. I saw he had on some black leather gloves and had a leather satchel attached to his belt, but I didn't ask what was inside.

I waited for the question, but it never came. In the awkward silence that could have been filled with problems, Marhkuhs just swung his arms a little and bobbed on the balls of his feet, sucking in air through his clenched teeth. After another minute, he nodded and brought his hands together. "So," He looked at me and I readied myself to refuse him. "We should probably get off this big street,"

It threw me, but only for a second. "Alright..." I drew out the 'i' in my answer and we both waited another uncomfortable moment before I set off down the road, hoping it was leading me back out to the suburbs. He followed a little behind me, loping stride easily worth two of my smaller steps, and I felt my chest tighten with tension. I gave him a long sidelong glance but he either didn't notice or pretended not to. Well, this was awkward.

"Listen, Marhkuhs," I started, but he held up and hand and shushed me.

"Listen," He mimicked, and I almost wanted to stick my tongue out at him. "I know what you're going to say," He nodded and patted my head with his previously outstretched hand, only smirking slightly at his own fantastic joke of mimicry. Hero of his own lunchbox, he was. My face crumpled in impossible, relieved disbelief at the notion that maybe he understood the situation. "And yes, I will be your ally,"

I must have made a stricken facial expression because he snorted and punched me lightly on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, buddy," I frowned and curled my lips in, confused beyond all hell. "But seriously, let's get off this street."


End file.
